Merely Saving Your Life
by SPN221B
Summary: "Thirty-one days. One entire month Sherlock! Do you not care at all how you spend them? They're your last you know." "I do know that John! I'm just not sure if I really care anymore..." I stared into the detective's cold eyes. "Well I do. And if you're not going to continue then I won't either." This story is dedicated to Koohii Kappu for being such an amazing friend.
1. Prologue

_John's P.O.V._

Four years ago my best friend faked his own suicide. For two of those four years I had to live without even the knowledge he was still alive. When he finally came back I was in the middle of a date, getting ready to propose to my wife. Our reunion did not go well. I beat the poor man up quite a few times. While I was furious that for two years I had thought I had lost him all he could think of was if I was planning on keeping my mustache or not.

I did eventually shave it off. My wife said it was because Sherlock hated it. I said that wasn't why. But in all reality it was. I did shave for Sherlock Holmes. Now I'm glad I never admitted it.

I'm glad for various reasons. Me writing this seems a lot less awkward. Plus it's a lot less painful. I guess I should explain. I have a lot of followers on here who will soon be reading this, hoping for more information on the recent happenings. I would have to be crazy not to write about it. I would have to be a sociopath to write about it. But it comes back to what I told Sherlock a long time ago. People want to know you're human. So without putting to much emotion and pain into this, I'm going to write about what exactly happened on our last case. Our very last case.

There's been a few theories recently that say Sherlock won't live to see tomorrow. Unfortunately that's very close to true. Way to close. He will live to see tomorrow. He'll live to see exactly thirty-one tomorrows. And I'm going to do the best I possibly can to tell you about those thirty-one days. But be aware. After I write about day thirty, he won't be here anymore. When that's done I'll do the last day. And then I'm shutting down this this blog and moving far away from 221B Baker Street. Mary and I have been thinking about moving to America. After this is all over we will be.

So allow me to take you through the last thirty-one days of Sherlock. The last thirty-one days of the Sherlock Holmes and John Watson team.

* * *

 **Hello fanfiction world! It is I, PFT221B! This is my first Sherlock fanfic, so I hope you enjoyed the start! Please review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	2. Chapter 1

_John's P.O.V._

It has been a long day at work. The first thing on my mind was to get home and shower. Flipping off the lights in my office, I clocked out.

"Goodnight June. See you in the morning." I called to the receptionist.

She waved back. "Goodnight John!"

The slowly closed behind me as I walked to my car. It was almost dark. Darker than when I usually left work. Granted I had been in a meeting that took two hours longer than expected. Driving through the dark streets of London, I made my way home. Climbing out of the car my keys jingled as I worked to unlock the front door. Mary was on a business trip in Ireland for two months and our daughter, Sherby, had gone with her. Dispite what I had told Sherlock, we had named her after him in some way.

Chuckling at the thought slightly, I open and closed the front door. Hanging up my coat, I walked into the living room and stopped abruptly when I saw them both sitting there.

"Sherlock, Mycroft. Pleasant surprise seeing you two here." my eyebrow slowly raised up. "Would you like some tea or have you already helped yourselves to that too?" I asked, sarcasm lacing my voice.

Sherlock more than willing played along. "Oh, no thank you. I have a cup." he raised the cup slightly off the table.

"You're finally here. We've been waiting for three hours." Mycroft snapped sharply.

The two brothers looked nervous as if something was wrong. I may not have been Sherlock Holmes, but you didn't have to be to see the tension in the room. I slowly sat down, the worst case scenarios flashing through my head. Thinking of Mary and Sherby, a sense of dread came about me.

Sherlock quickly sensed it. "Don't worry. They're both fine. This is about... Someone else."

The dread changed to surprise as Sherlock hesitated. He never hesitated about anything. If he was hesitating and both Holmes brothers were sitting in front of me something had to be wrong.

"Okay what is it? What's so important you couldn't even text or call me before coming over here? There was a meeting I had to attend that ran way late, so if you had called, I could've saved you a few hours of waiting." I glanced between Sherlock and Mycroft.

Mycroft continued to glare at me and Sherlock cast his eyes towards the floor. I started to get up and walk away, not carrying that the two still sat there. I went to close the door to the bathroom when I heard Sherlock say my name.

"John wait. We need to talk to you." he said.

I laughed slightly. "I gathered that much. But all you two did was sit and stare."

"I can't talk to you about it. Mycroft has all the information. Said you should know about this first. Which means it's about me. Though you would think that if it was about yourself you would have all rights to know." Sherlock snarked, with a famlier tone of disgust.

I bit back a laugh, trying to be somewhat serious. "This is Mycroft. Does he ever tell anyone anything."

"If you two would shut up for a second, I would. This is an important matter. Not something you should be laughing about."

"I'm sorry Mycroft. You're just way too gullible that way. Please go on." I gave the older Holmes a half hearted apology.

He glared at me once more. "I shall. Let's see... Ah, yes. We have a case for the two of you. And before you say I don't solve crimes mysteries anymore, John, may I say this one is required. It's about a small terrorist cell. We hadn't given it much thought until lately when some national secrets suddenly started to become public news and not just to England, but to the world."

"What type of secrets?" Sherlock questioned.

Mycroft turned a sad, worried eye on him. "Like the secret that in exactly thirty-one days you are going to die."

* * *

 **A there is the first chapter. I hope you enjoyed. Thank you very much for the review. Please review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	3. Chapter 2

_John's P.O.V._

"What! Since when?!" I blurted. "How does he only have thirty-one days to live?! Sherlock! How is this possible? You never told me anything! What's going on here!"

Sherlock held his hands up in defence. "I was just told right before we came here! Don't get all angry at me." he retorted.

My mouth formed a tight grim line. Turning back towards Mycroft, I asked, "Okay then. Since you're the one who knows this all, please, explain."

The older Holmes brother cast a guilty look downwards. "In thirty-one days we have an execution planned. It was just to be for criminals who the queen wanted dead. Somehow though, Sherlock got on the wrong side of someone and..." Sherlock cut him off with a laugh.

"Me? Get on the wrong side of someone? That would never happen. So how did this rally happen? You must've been involved somehow." the sarcasm was so thick in his voice you could've cut butter with it.

"No I wasn't. If I was, I wouldn't be warning you that you have a giant group of British assassins following you, waiting for the word to kill you."

Sherlock glared, and Mycroft glared back. "I don't even wonder why I can't believe you. You've lied to me so many times I can't even tell when my brother is telling the truth."

"Damn it Sherlock! For once could you actually just listen? I'm trying to protect you here!" Mycroft yelled.

"Why?"

"Because I care about you! I know a sociopath like you wouldn't even think about caring for anyone, never less your own brother, for even a second, but I'm not a sociopath." the venom from Mycroft's words sunk into Sherlock.

The detective quickly shut up. Sinking back in the chair he was sitting in, I could've sworn I saw a tear slide down his check. I wanted to say something, but found myself unable to. Instead I continued to look towards Mycroft for answers.

"Back to the point. Thirty-one days to solve this case. If you fail, you will die. If you succeed, we may be able to fake your death again. But even that is a slim chance." Mycroft continued.

Sherlock's head shot up. "No. I will not do that again. I cannot do that again. I saw what happened last time and refuse to let it happen again." a quick flash of anger went across his face.

"So you just want to die instead?"

I watched the two brothers, praying Sherlock said no. "Yes. It's better than pretending again."

I bit my lip and started to get up. "Where are you going?"

I flinched. "Sounds like you both need to work some things out. Was going to give you some personal space."

"Actually, here's the case files. Read over them and try to solve it. Just remember it's this case for your life." the older Holmes handed them to Sherlock. "One more thing. I don't want you to die Sherlock. You may not care, but I do and there are others out there. One is sitting right in front of you. just remember that."

Mycroft stood up to leave. "Goodbye John. Thanks you for putting up with us." he said, a hint of sadness in his voice. Then, nodding sharply, he address his brother. "Sherlock."

"Mycroft."

The tension between the two was incredibly clear. Straightening his suit coat, he left the house. We both watched him answer a call and get into a black car. It drove away and I turned back to Sherlock, trying to hide the worry in my eyes.

"Stop trying. It's still plain as day." Sherlock said, breaking the silence.

"Well then, in that case, what are we going to do Sherlock?" I tilted my head, a clear sign that I was thinking.

"Well," he began, "first we'll solve this case. We have thirty-one days to do it in. That should be more than enough time and then we discuss other matters."

"How about we discuss 'other matters' now and then solve the case." I suggested.

He raised his eyes to heaven. "Or we could do that. What is there to talk about? I'm going to die in thirty-one days. I'm not faking my death again, and there's no way to call off the assassins. I'll solve the case, say my goodbyes, and go and wait up in my flat. It's simple as that." the detective shrugged, picking up his nearly cold cup of tea and taking a sip.

"Thirty-one days. One entire month Sherlock! Do you not care at all how you spend them? They're your last you know."

"I do know that John! I'm just not sure if I really care anymore..."

I stared into the detective's cold eyes. "Well I do. And if you're not going to continue then I won't either."

"What did you just say?" he turned his head slightly and raised an eyebrow.

"You heard me! If you aren't going to continue than I won't either!" I said slightly to loud.

It instantly quieted Sherlock, and he stood up, straightening his coat. His face held no emotion except a slight tinge what could be described as sadness. He blinked once, and picked up the case files off the table. Placing them in my hands, he looked me square in the eye.

"Well then, Doctor Watson. I'd like to see you solve this on your own."

He proceeded to the door, not even looking back. Sherlock put his hand on the doorknob and went to turn it, except he then hesitated. Turning his head towards me, he gave a grim smile.

"Oh, and by the way. John I thought you should know that I'm sorry." he laughed quietly.

"For what? Sherlock come back here and explain. Now." I demanded.

Sherlock laughed again. "I'm afraid that's not possible. Good bye John."

"Sherlock! Wait..." the door slammed quickly, cutting me off.

"I don't understand..."

* * *

 **So if everything doesn't line up with series four, that is because I haven't seen it. So please excuse that.**

 **Anyways, thank you all for the reviews! I hope you enjoyed and please review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	4. Chapter 3

_John's P.O.V._

I tilted my head back a let out a giant yawn. I had been over these files around twenty times. None of it though made sense. Nothing made any sense at all.

Glancing at the clock, I groaned softly. Four A.M. I had to be to work in two hours and a half. Well I had to leave for work. I got up, stuffing the stupid case files in drawer. As an after thought I locked them in the small safe Mary and I had bought for our few valuables.

I made coffee and showered, something I had wanted to do last night, before I was rudely interrupted. Dispite that, I was still extremely worried. It wasn't like Sherlock to just walk out on a case like he did. He had also called me Doctor Watson. Something he never did. Not even when we first met. I guess I had took it to far, especially by assuming he was going to just give up.

I got in my car and just sat there. I had to leave for work in ten minutes, but did I really want to go there? Dialing the number for the cloak in desk, I decided to make up an excuse just this'll once.

"East London Doctor's Office. How may I help you?"

"June, hi. This is John Watson. I'm not feeling very well today. I'm afraid I can't come in." I lied, adding a small cough or two to the end, which ended up turning into a full out coughing fit.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry. I'll be sure to tell Doctor Adiline so she can split up your patients. Get well soon!" her chippy voice came through the headset.

I coughed again. "I plan to. Well have a good day! Bye."

"Bye."

Disconnecting the call, I started the car, and slowly made my way to Sherlock's flat. I entered and smiled softly as I heard violin music. It was a tune I hadn't ever heard before, so I concluded he must've been composing. Mrs. Hudson came out and gave me hug, talking about how long it had been since she had last seen me. Telling me she would bring Sherlock and I some tea, I went upstairs and pushed the door open.

Sure enough, there he was, composing new music once more. I waited until he had finished the verse to speak.

"That was very nice. What are you going to call it?" I asked.

The detective didn't even flinch. "I'm not sure yet. I still have three verses to go."

"Sherlock, look I'm sorry about what I said. It's just..." I tried to apologize, but was quickly interrupted.

"No John. Don't even go there. We were stressed. I get it."

I shook my head. "I don't think you do. Sherlock, we need to talk. And not just about last night. Those case files made no sense. I read them twenty times over."

"Did you bring them with you?" he questioned.

"No, they're locked in the safe at my house."

Grabbing his trench coat and turning up the collar, he gave me a crazed smile. "Well then to your house we go. Mrs. Hudson! We won't need that tea after all!" he shouted down the stairs.

We both walked out of the flat and got a cab, forgetting I had a car my self. Personally though, I didn't mind. My smile broadened and I saw one break out on Sherlock's face.

The game was on.

* * *

 _Three Hours Later_

"There's nothing here!" Sherlock shouted, slamming the files down on the table. "We've been through these a hundred times! How in the world did Mycroft expect us to solve a case with this information!?"

I flinched slightly at the yelling. I had never seem him so frustrated before. But then again, he had a solid point. There was nothing in these files. No names, no hot spots, no victims. We didn't even have the group's name. We only had one lead and that lead had already been crossed off as a dead end by Sherlock and Mycroft. There was no way to solve this.

"Ugh, stupid, stupid, stupid! Come on Sherlock! This is so simple Anderson could solve it! Think!" he yelled at himself.

He got up and started to pace, mumbling under his breath something about being an idiot. I placed my hand on his shoulder and he spun around, surprised.

"What?!" he spat.

"Calm down. We'll figure this out. Together. Like we always do. We haven't failed before and we won't fail this time. Let's sit down and look over it one more time."

He nodded. "You're right. Let's just try again," he sat down on the edge of the chair.

I noticed his hands were extremely shaky and how tired he seemed. His eyes were dull and he was very pale. When I tried to reach out to touch him, his flinched and smacked my hand away.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" I questioned. "I think you should go lay down, get some rest."

"That might be a good idea," he agreed without any arguing.

Now I knew something was up. Any other time Sherlock would've argued none stop with me. I pointed towards a room down the hall.

"You can use the spare room. Second door on your right. Do you need any help?"

"No I should be fine. Just keep working on the case. We have to solve this," he demanded.

The detective got up and walked in the room. I watched the door close behind him before returning to the case files. Not even ten minutes later I heard a crash.

"Sherlock? You okay in there?" I shouted.

When I got no response, I headed towards the room. When I opened the door, I gasped, shocked by what I saw.

"Oh god... Sherlock!"

* * *

 **Thanks you for the review! Hope you enjoyed and please review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	5. Chapter 4

_John's P.O.V._

I rushed over to the fallen detective, ignoring the rest of the room, which was covered in shattered glass and some blood. I quickly checked for a pulse, relieved when I found one. It was then, when my medical training kicked in. Dull eyes, shaky hands, pale skin. That was all part of someone who had been recently poisoned. It didn't matter what type of poison, all those symptoms were constant.

"Hold on Sherlock, I'll be right back." I told him running towards the bathroom.

I grabbed the first aid kit, which had more than the everyday version, soaked a washcloth in water and and brought the hydrogen proxcide along with a small cup. I got back down on my knees alongside Sherlock. Checking quickly for a pulse again, I called an ambulance and started to do what I could. First I wiped the wet washcloth across his face, helping cool the fever that, if not controlled, would kill him quicker than anything. Laying it on his forehead, I moved up. Opening the first aid kit, I grabbed out a special epi pen made to help slow blood flow in case of an allergy. In this case it would help the poison. I stabbed it into the side of his thigh and counted to ten before removing it. I massage the entry spot for ten more seconds before moving to the last thing to do. He was unconscious so this would be more difficult, but not impossible. I poured hydrogen peroxide into the cup, filling it about half way. Tilting his head back and opening his mouth, I poured it in, little by little. Pressing just right on his throat he swallowed. Starting to count to thirty, I ran back to the bathroom, grabbed the small white trash can, and ran back. A second after I shoved it under his mouth, he violently threw up, the peroxide bubbling. I waited two more minutes before removing the trash can.

I've done everything I can, and all I have to do now is wait. As I wait, I take Sherlock's head up in my arms and press it to my chest, whispering words to him, trying hard not to cry. I blink the tears back and take his pulse again. It was still there, but it had slowed and was getting weaker. The slowing of it was fine, that was what the epi pen was suppose to do, but it weakening concerned me. That wasn't good. It meant the poison was quickly winning, even against my efforts to help him. His forehead was soaked with sweat and the washcloth on him was no longer cool. I knew I should go rinse it out, but I was to scared to leave him there. I heard sirens, and rushed to the front door to meet the paramedics. Explaining the problem, I pointed them towards Sherlock and three of four of them rushed off to help while the other stayed behind with me.

The paramedic tried to ask me questions, but I couldn't answer. I saw them bring Sherlock out on the stretcher, and my heart nearly stopped. I fought to get in with him, fear out ruling common sense. They closed the doors and raced towards the hospital. The police officers that had came with them stayed behind, restraining me, as I watched the ambulance disappear. I turned with pleading eyes towards to the two officers.

"Please sir. I need to go. He's my best friend," I barely managed to get out, my voice shaky. "Please. I've almost lost him once already. I can't do that again."

The officer took pity on me and let go. "Take this man to the hospital. I'll stay behind and gather evidence. Go on sir. Go be with your friend."

I managed to mutter thank you, before clambering into the police car. I buckled in and prayed to the good God above that Sherlock would be okay. That no matter what happened, he would live.

At The Hospital

I knew I should've checked in before rushing through the doors that led to where patients were took who were in dire need of any antidote. So it was no surprise when people started to chase me. Swiping an access card, I slipped into a part of the hospital doctors were allowed in.

It was calm and quiet in here. The maze of tunnels and hallways were there to allow doctors to get to patients quicker. The newer doctors often got lost in here, but I knew where every hall and tunnel went. I took a left, heading back towards the chemotherapy department. Once I got there, I emerged from the hidden maze only two doors away from where I wanted to be.

"Doctor Watson! Thank goodness you're here! You're the best one we have when it comes to patients who've been poisoned. There's a man who just came in. We went to do your usual procedure, but it had already been done." a man ran up to me, concern in his voice. "We don't know how someone would have that type of knowledge though."

"Easy. I'm the one who administered the treatment to him. Where is he now? I must see him." I quickened my pace, ignoring the 'hellos' and 'good to see yous' that kept coming at me.

"Room 36, left wing. He's currently being given an anti-poison until lab reports come back. I was going to search for records on him." Luke answered, as we turned a corner.

I gave him the information I knew was wanted. "Sherlock Holmes, 38 years old, birth date is July 14, 1979, lives on 221B Baker Street, no known allergies. Now if you'll excuse me, please go see how long those lab reports will be." I said, ignoring the shocked look on his face.

"Yes sir. Right away sir." Luke ran off, and I turned to look at the door.

Straighten my coat, I pushed them open and walked in, not surprised to see them trying to hold the man down. Thrashing about would only cause the poison to spread, but at least Sherlock was alive. He saw me and calm down a tad bit.

"Sherlock, listen to me, are you feeling okay?" I whispered to him, pushing past the nurses and doctors.

"John. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Hey, it's not your fault. You're going to get over this. You will and I'll be with you the entire time." I grabbed his hand.

I turned to the others in the room. "Would you all please leave? Thank you." I said as they all filed out of the room.

"Could I sit up? All of those other bloody nurses and doctors refused to let me." he asked, and I had to chuckle. Leave it to Sherlock to be able to jump back that quickly.

I shook my head. "And I'm going to be the one who agrees with them. If you move to much, it'll allow the poison to move around quicker. In all, it's safer if you just stay where you are."

A quiet sigh escaped Sherlock. I looked at his face, and bit my lip at the sight of the rejected look on it. I moved my hand from his hand to his forehead, checking to see if his fever has broken. I sighed in relief as I felt that it had. He still had a slight one, but thankfully it wasn't as high as before. I gave him a quick hug right before Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson, and Mycroft burst in.

"John?"

"Mycroft?"

"Lestrade?"

"Anderson?"

"Donovan?"

"Sherlock?"

The names were fired off in such rapid succession by everyone, I'm not sure who said what. I saw Luke standing behind them all with a face that said, 'I tried, but they didn't listen.' He was also holding the lab report.

"Hello everyone. I'm glad you're here, but Mr. Holmes is in no state for visitors right now. So goodbye everyone." I said, pushing them all out the door.

I slammed it shut dispite their protests, and let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Luke walked up, and put the report in my hands.

"I'm sorry Doctor Watson. I tried to stop them, I really did. But they all just pushed right through." he apologized.

I clapped my hand on his shoulder. "That's okay Luke. If you wouldn't mind going out there and explaining why Mr. Holmes here cannot have any visitors right now, that would be fantastic."

"Yes Doctor Watson. I will do that."

He stepped out and I could hear the shouting coming from everyone. Sherlock and I chuckled, imagining the face of them all, espically Mycroft. We continued to laugh until he started coughing. I opened the lab report and frowned, as I read the list of everything that was currently in Sherlock's bloodstream. I saw one, and I sighed. Closing the folder, in gave him a disappointed look.

"Sherlock have you been on drugs again? Don't lie, I need the honest truth." I looked the detective square in the eye.

He looks down and admits it. "Just last night. Right after I left your house I might have slightly overdosed on cocaine. I'm sorry John." the shame on his face made me unable to not forgive him.

"Normally I'd lecture you on this, but right now we need to get the cocaine out of your system before we can act on the poison. At least we know how the poison got into your system, and we finally might have a lead on that terrorist cell." I put gloves on my hands and pulled out a new IV bag with a chemical that helped flush anything that shouldn't be in your bloodstream.

"We do? How could that give us any leads?" he questioned.

"Easy," I answered. "Who was your dealer? We find him, we find the lead."

"Wait, what type of poison was in the cocaine?"

I answered with two words.

"Black Widow."

* * *

 **Hey guys! This my longest chapter yet! Thank you so much for the reviews and I hope you enjoy! Please review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	6. Chapter 5

_John's P.O.V._

The shock on Sherlock's face came to me as no surprise. Black Widow poison was the perfect poison. It was hard to spot and even harder to trace. There was no other way it could've possibly entered his system than drugs, and since he has admitted to slightly overdosing on cocaine, it made since. Secretly I was disappointed in him. He had been doing so well and to see him stoop low again, was hard. I practically adored this man for no other reason than he was brilliant. He was my best friend. So I guess it just might be natural what him to do well.

"Black Widow poison is easy to slip into anything. It has no taste and no smell. You should be glad we caught it in time." I answered the question before it even came out his mouth.

He promptly closed his mouth and I noticed the door open and shut. I was Luke, coming towards me. He looked exhausted.

"Sir could you please deal with them. They refuse to listen." he panted.

"I'll get this Luke. Please replace the current IV bag with this one and then give him five millimeters of morphine. No more, no less." I pulled off my gloves, throwing them in the trash.

Luke nodded. "Yes sir," he grabbed a fresh pair of gloves and took the IV.

I slipped out and rolled my eyes at the sight of everyone arguing. Mycroft saw me and sneared. I just looked on with the patient attitude every doctor should have. Even if they were surrounded with idiots.

"John, let us in already. Why didn't you tell us that Sherlock was in the hospital? This is an outrage!" Mycroft shouted.

I turned on him. "The title is Doctor Watson and you shall address me as so while we are here. No one will be allowed in the patient's room without their permission and their doctor's. You have neither of those at this moment." I answered crossly.

"I'm a police officer, I can get a warrant." Donovan said, and Lestrade nodded in agreement.

"It's not valid as long as they patient remains in this hospital." I shot back. "Besides Mr. Holmes has no desire to see at least two of you."

Mycroft started. "Well he's my brother you have to let me in."

"As long as the patient wishes to see you, yes. I cannot and will not deny any family member from seeing a patient unless the patient does not want to see them." I held my ground in the argument.

"Would you please ask Sherlock then if he..." the older Holmes was cut off by an alarm going off.

"Code blue, code blue. All help needed in room 36, left wing. I repeat code blue." a voice came over the speakers.

I swung around, a panic stricken look coming through my eyes. I ran in to see Luke starting to set up an infibulator.

"What's going on?"

"I'm not sure. I was giving him the morphine when he flatlined. I'm not allowed to give CPR so I did the best I could."

"Understood. You," I said, pointing at a nurse who has just came in. "Start chest compressions. Have him take over in two minutes."

I ran out of the room, searching for emergency mouth-to-mouth piece. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy. I merely kept going searching room by room. When I finally found what I was looking for, I ran back. You couldn't see it, but the pressure of the fact my best friend could be dying was starting to get to me. I handed the mouth piece to another doctor who had came in, and shouted my orders. The heart monitor was still flatlined, and that was scaring me. I ran down to the lab and searched for the antidote to Black Widow poison. I finally found it and ran back up.

When I got back to the room they had stopped chest compressions and the heat monitor had a slow beep. Maybe seven beats a minute, but fortunately it was enough to keep him alive.

I disconnected the morphine and put in the antidote instead. Now it was just a matter of if we got to him in time or not. The room went deadly silent, as three nurses, two doctors, and Luke stood there just waiting. Sherlock took in a short, shuddering gasp, and the heartbeat increased to a much more normal rate. Everyone clapped and hugged each other, knowing that they had just saved a life. I stood there, wanting to cry. I had managed to save Sherlock this time, but could I do it again? One wrong move on my end and he could end up dead. And it would be my fault. Maybe he was right. Maybe we should just solve the case and then enjoy our last few days together.

"Doctor Watson? Are you okay sir? Do you need to sit down?" Luke was talking to me.

"Huh? Oh, I'm fine just slightly shocked." I pushed his hand away and continued to stare at Sherlock, who was starting to stir. "Could everyone just leave. Please? I'll call you back, if I need you."

They all left and I sat down next to Sherlock's bed. For this moment I was John, Sherlock's best friend, not Doctor Watson. He stirred again, and I felt hot tears rolling down my checks. This was to close. Way to close. Just a few seconds later and he would've been gone. And for what? A stupid terrorist cell that had something against my best friend.

I put my head in my hands. It was my fault. I had yelled at him. I was the reason he had suddenly needed to get high. How could've I done this to him? I got up and wrote out a note, explaining where I was and why I wasn't there. Laying it on the table next to him, I left the room. I told Mycroft he could go in, and ordered Luke to watch out for Sherlock.

I left the hospital, making my way to 221B Baker Street, mainly to fetch my car. It was parked a few blocks away. I got in and turned the ignition. The next thing I knew was smoke, fire, and a giant explosion and that I most likely was never to see Sherlock or anyone else again.

Because he wasn't the only one trying to be assassinated.

* * *

 **And another chapter! Thank you so much for the reviews! I hope you enjoyed and please, review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	7. Chapter 6

_John's P.O.V._

My head's pounding, and all I can smell is smoke. I try to open my eyes, to find that it just makes my head hurt worse. I close them and lean back. I hear someone shouting my name. I try to look around again. The world is a blur. I'm moving. Someone's asking me questions. I can't say anything. I feel like I'm sinking. The next thing I know I'm in a deep pit of unconsciousness.

* * *

I'm barely able to make out anything. I hear faint beeping and someone breathing. Whoever is sitting next to me doesn't know yet that I'm awake. That's okay though because I don't think can stay awake much longer. He looks over and sees me drifting back off. He says my name and shakes me. I wish he would stop. It was all so painful. I just want him to stop.

* * *

I'm awake again. This time the person next to me notices instantly. He shouts my name. Or at least I thinks it's my name. My body is on fire. Fire. That reminds me of something. Something that I had warn someone about. Someone who depends on me. But I can't remember what. Something about an explosion. And this someone was depending on me. But he shouldn't. The person shakes me and I just want him to stop. It hurts. It hurts so bad. I feel waterdrops hit my face. Is it raining? Am I outside? I look up and through the blur I can see that it the person. He's crying. Why is he crying? Something was wrong with this picture. I don't have much time to ponder it, because I quickly black out again.

* * *

 _Sherlock's P.O.V._

I blinked several times. I see a man standing over me and see that it is the PA John had been talking with. Behind him, watching his every move, stood my brother. I felt slightly honored to have earned the looks of my older brother.

I tried to sit up. "Where's John?" were the first words out of mouth.

"Doctor Watson? He left a little while ago. Said he had some important things to do. He left me here to watch over you." the PA, Luke was his name, smiled broadly at me. "He also left a note over on that table for you."

I picked it up, and hesitantly unfolded. Huh, I hesitated. That's a new quality. The words were written in a messy scrawl compared to normal, which meant he must've been in a hurry. I read through the note, dread filling every ounce of me.

Sherlock,

Sorry about this all. If I hadn't yelled at you, you wouldn't have have had the urge to get high, accidently overdose, get poisoned, and barely survive. You're probably better off without me. I'll deliver the case files to your flat, and then I urge you not to contact me again.

I'm going to go back to my house, and recover from the shock of this all. And then I'll go back to work. I'm going to continue with normal day to day life. I want you to do the same. Solve a few murders, compose some music, enjoy your days without me.

I'm sorry again Sherlock. I didn't mean to put you through this.

Your best friend,

John Watson

Panic struck me. Something was going to happen and it wouldn't be good. I looked desperately towards Mycroft, knowing he would be able to tell me where John was.

"Where's John?" I coughed out. Mycroft refused to look at me or even answer my question. "Please Mycroft. I need to know. This is really important to me."

"There was just an explosion five minutes ago two blocks away from Baker Street. They're looking for survivors now." he admitted.

I jumped out of the bed, adrenaline filling my veins. I ran out of the hospital and got the nearest cab. The cab driver took me where I wanted and I threw a random coin at him. He yelled about it not being enough, but I didn't care. I ran into my flat and put some real clothes on. I ran back down and gave the cabbie the correct amount. I then rushed towards the smoke, my trench coat flowing behind me.

Two police officers stopped me, saying that it was to dangerous to go that way. I fought them, yelling John's name as loud as I could. I saw the paramedics bring out his body, and I could see the burn marks all along his arms and face.

My heart stopped and the adrenaline in my veins disappeared. Between the explosion and poison that had only been recently expelled from me, I couldn't take it. I collapsed in officers arms blacking out.

* * *

I awoke back in the hospital, Luke standing next to me again. This time, a bunch of wires weren't connected to me. Luke saw me and smiled.

"Ah good, Mr. Holmes. You're awake. If you feel up to it, your brother wishes for you to go visit Doctor Watson." his smile remained, but was clearly forced.

The explosion and John being carried out of it, sudden came back to me. "I'm up to it. Where is he? I have to see him now."

"Room 476, northeast wing. Just a few doors down from here."

"What room is this?" I asked.

"Room 455. I'd hurry if I was you. He's been fading in and out for a while now!" Luke shouted.

I had never ran so fast in my life. I burst into room which was empty of everyone, except John. I sat down next to his bed and gently held his hand. I sat like this for a while before whispering something to my best friend.

"Please don't die John. I need you..."

His eyes fluttered and I said his name and shook him softly. Dispite my efforts he still drifted back to sleep.

* * *

"Oh gosh! I'm sorry sir! I didn't know anyone, but the patient was in here. Is he your brother?" a nurse came in, surprising me, and I her.

"No. He's only my best friend. Is he going to be okay?" I questioned. "He's not going to die is he?"

The nurse shakes her head. "He's not going to die, but he is extremely hurt."

"What's wrong with him?"

"I'm afraid he'll most likely never be able to walk again."

"What?"

"Your friend is paralyzed." she says in extremely sad tone.

All I can do is hug John and mumble his name. Before I know it, I'm crying.

And sociopaths aren't suppose to cry.

* * *

 **I'm so evil. I really like this story, so that's why you're getting a double update! Hope you enjoyed and please review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	8. Chapter 7

_John's P.O.V._

I haven't seen Sherlock for days now. I remember vaguely seeing him the day I was told about my legs. I was shocked when I heard about it and I've tried multiple times to move them, but I couldn't even feel them. I hated it. It left me feeling so useless. I guess that's why Sherlock hadn't came around much. He didn't want to be around someone who couldn't walk.

I sighed, leaning backwards on the bed. I so wanted out of this place. As a doctor I was accustomed to being here a lot. But now I understood how staring at a white wall for hours on end could be so boring and why so many patients went crazy.

Smirking, I decided to have a little fun. Leaning as far I could, I pressed the automatic flatline button on the back of the heart moniter. If I didn't remove the finger clip within 30 seconds an alarm would sound out a code blue. Laying flat on my back, I put the eating tray on my chest, which made it hard to see that I was breathing. Counting down from five the normal alert sounded. I snickered and closed my eyes. I could get in so much trouble for this, but it was worth it.

Nurses and doctors ran in and started to set everything up. I tried to hold it in, but I ended up bursting into tears, I was laughing so hard. They all glared at me and left the room. It was then I noticed Sherlock standing in the door frame, a slightly worried look on his face. My smile faded and I looked away, unable to face him.

"John. How are you doing?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Okay I guess. Just really bored. Hence the reason I pulled that small prank."

"I guess it's better than shooting holes in the wall."

"If I had a gun and if it would decorate the walls, I'd more than gladly do that! I am so bored. I hate white walls. I now know why patients who are here for a long time go crazy." I laughed, my smile returning for a split second.

We both went silent, staring at the wall. I looked down, knowing what we were about to talk about was probably going to ruin our friendship forever. Squeezing my eyes shut, a single tear fell, a small detail Sherlock did not miss. He looked at me, emptiness and sadness being the main emotions on his face.

Another tear fell. "I'm sorry Sherlock. I didn't mean for this to happen. If I had just listened to you none of this would be like it is now. I understand if you don't wish to be around me any more. I mean, who would? I can't even walk anymore. Might as well go die." I whispered the end part, trying to hold back even more tears.

"What? No! Don't even dare think something like that John Hamish Watson! You are very much needed here. And what about Mary and Sherby? Are you just going to leave them behind. I'm sure your wife, not to mention your one year old daughter, isn't going to love you any less on the fact if you can walk or not." the detective shouted at me, staring me in the eye.

I noticed here didn't put his thoughts on the subject in there. Maybe I was right. He didn't want to be around someone who was helpless like me. As much as the thought hurt, I had to allow for every option, good or bad. I looked away from his face, the tears coming steadily now. I pushed my face into a pillow to hide a sob. Unfortunately, it didn't help. I was soon full out crying and didn't try to hide it. I could tell I was making Sherlock uncomfortable, but the last thing expected was him to try and sooth me.

"Hey now. Don't cry." he wrapped his arms around me. "I can't stand to see my best friend break down right in front of me. I know it's hard not being able to walk, but please. If possible, let me help. I want to so badly, so tell me what to do."

"I'm sorry Sherlock. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. Just please forgive me." I sobbed into his shirt, suddenly all thoughts of him hating me gone. "Please Sherlock, please. That's all I ask. Hate me, leave me alone, do whatever you want to me, just please. Forgive me."

"John. John Watson. Look at me. You're my best friend. The only human alive that could make this sociopath feel anything. I'd be a fool to hate you and I promise you, I won't leave you alone until the day I die. John Watson, a solider, a doctor, a loving husband and father, my best friend, my only friend, I forgive you for everything. There's not one thing in this entire world that I don't forgive you for. I just have one request." Sherlock said, looking me dead in the eye, his voice not wavering once.

"What's that?" I managed to say through my tears.

"John Watson, please, one day, I beg you, walk again. For me."

I embraced him in a hug and gave him a promise. "Sherlock Holmes, I promise you, one day, I will walk again. For you."

And for a minute in our lives, everything was good.

* * *

 **Hey everyone! It's me again! You got a triple update! Hope this makes up for the fact I might not update tomorrow! Thank you so much for all the support! I hope you enjoyed and please review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	9. Chapter 8

_John's P.O.V._

I frowned as Shelock left my room. Mainly because I wasn't sure if the promise I had just made was totally debatable if I could keep it or not. While I may never walk again, I knew one thing for certain. I would never stop trying. Til the day I died, I would try to walk again. Try to be worth something again.

Worth something. According to Sherlock I was worth something. I was his friend and the only one who could honestly make him smile. If that wasn't worth something, I don't know what is.

I was so relieved that Sherlock had forgiven me. That he didn't hold any grudge against me. It might've been stupid to think he did, but I was honestly scared that he might not want to be around someone who couldn't walk and I told him that. He quickly put those fears to rest, saying there was no one in this world who could replace me.

I still couldn't walk, I hadn't seen or talked to my wife in weeks, and my best friend was still scheduled to die in twenty-six days, but at least he didn't hate me. Even in this situation, there was some sunshine peeking through the clouds. I sighed happily and leaned back, closing my eyes for a second. Boy, was that ever a mistake...

I was on a ship, the deck swaying wildly, and the waves coming up and over the railings. I could see no crew or any passengers. It looked deserted and old. Seeing what looked like the door to the captain's quarters. I ran inside slamming the door shut behind me. When I turned around, I was face to face with Sherlock.

"Ahh! Sherlock you scared me." I said, trying to be cheerful and walked around him only to stop dead in my tracks.

Lying there, was the corpse of Sherlock, shot in the head, blood still oozing out of the wound. The Sherlock I had saw when I walked in, came and stared at me, a look of disgust on his face.

"Look at that John. Your best friend, lying on the floor, dead. And why you ask? Because of YOU!" he shouted, making me shrink back in terror. "YOU let him die! YOU didn't save him! YOU are the reason he's dead John! And you have to live with it. You have to live with it for the rest of your life. Of course, you could make your life shorter, prove to him your sorry."

I was close to sobbing and got closer every time he yelled. "What do you mean?" I managed to say.

He held a gun out to me, placing it in my hands, and holding another one to his head. "Boom."

"Oh." my hands shook as I held it up to my head.

I cocked it and took a breath. Any second now I would be dead...

* * *

 _Sherlock's P.O.V._

I heard the alarm go off and almost hesitated. He was just fine a minute ago when I left. Was he pulling another prank? I walked briskly back to the room, to find it wasn't a pranks this time. He was actually in a code blue situation. I stood back and looked on with scared eyes, wishing I could help. I had been informed by my PA, Luke, that John was the only reason I was still alive, the least I could do was repay the debt.

I watched as they did CPR. Two minutes later they shouted clear, and shocked him. Right after that they began the chest compressions again. After three rounds of this, I got on my knees next to him, whispering in his ear, begging him to wake up. Nothing seemed to be working. A small idea came to me and I used it as a last feeble attempt.

"John Watson you promised me you would walk again."

* * *

 _John's P.O.V._

I squeezed my eyes shut, the tears continued to fall. Right as I went to pull the trigger I heard Sherlock speak again, though it was kind of blurry and distant.

"John Watson, you promised me you would walk again."

I stayed there, gun to my head, finger on the trigger. I didn't know what to do. One Sherlock told me the end this all. The other reminded me of a promise.

"John if you die today, I will never forgive you for it. Please, wake up, wake up, wake up..."

The words 'wake up' echoed through my brain. I fell backwards, the ship disappearing, and my head hit what felt like a pillow. Something was pushing on my chest and everyone in a while a shock would go through me. I took a shuddered breath and everything went silent around me. Soon a round of applause went up and arms squeezed me, the owner whispering in my ear.

"Thank goodness. John thank you. Thank you for not dying."

I tried to talk, but I was to exhausted. All I could do was lean my head back and fall asleep...

Ten Hours Later

I woke up to a snoring Sherlock. He was sitting on the chair next to my bed, head resting on his hand, sleeping. I reached over and grabbed his wrist, checking to make sure he was real. The slight touch though awoken him.

"What's wrong! What's going on! Who died!" the detective woke up frantically.

"I don't think anyone's died so far, unless we both are dead." I said softly. "Which would be better than just one of us."

"Oh John! You're awake! Thank god!" he hugged me, a few teardrops slidding down his checks and hitting my face.

"I am, aren't I?" I chuckled.

He glared ferociously at me. "Don't ever do that to me again John Watson! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" he shouted.

"Hey don't be mad at me! I wasn't trying to die."

"I'm not mad John, I'm scared. I can't keep doing this. I don't want to keep doing this. Please John, next time I'm dying, just let me. I don't want to hurt anyone else." he begged and I just couldn't tell him no.

But at the same time, I could. "No."

"What?"

"I said no. I will not just let you die Sherlock! That's not what best friends do! I tell you what, you and I are going to break out of this damn hospital, and we're going to solve a case! And we're going to do it tonight! And if anyone should try to stop us, hehe, I'd like to see them try!"

A determined look was in Sherlock's eyes and I had to smile. Because tonight I'm breaking out.

* * *

 **Haha! Fooled you! There was an update today! Thank you for your reviews. I hope you enjoyed and please review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	10. Chapter 9

_John's P.O.V._

I listened hard. It was around eleven thirty and I could hear the faint footsteps coming towards my room. Sherlock would be here any second know with real clothes and an access card he swiped of another doctor. The door opened and then quickly shut.

"John? Are you still awake?" he questioned.

"Awake and ready to go." I answered glad it was dark in here. "Do you have it?"

"Yep. Follow me. We're getting out of here." he held the door open as I went through, slower because of the wheelchair I was forced to use.

As we entered the dimly lit halls I fought hard to avoid Sherlock's eyes. I didn't want him to see the fact that I was ashamed of the wheelchair. We went up to a door and swiped the card, flinching at the faint beep.

"Ready?" I heard Sherlock ask.

"Ready. Let's go and stay close. These halls and tunnels can be super confusing." I warned. "Just stay with me and we should be fine."

It was a ten minute walk to the single entrance that lead outside. This entrance was in case of emergencies or if doctors needed to step outside for a second. We went through it, breathing in the cool air of night time London. It was nice to be out of that stuffy hospital.

"Where to now?" I asked.

Sherlock pointed an northeastern direction. "Your house. We'll get a cab and then some rest before getting to work on this case."

We had to go three blocks before we were able to pull over a cab. On the way there, Sherlock addressed something that I was surprised he even thought about and the fact he actually read the note I left for him.

"John, did you really mean it?"

I looked at him for a second. "Mean what?"

"That I shouldn't contact you again. That everything was your fault?" Sherlock questioned, curiosity filling his voice.

"Yes," I nodded. "I really did mean it. I yelled at you and that caused an entire domino effect. I mean, look where we are now. You're recovering from poison, I can't walk, and we're breaking out of a hospital. If that isn't enough reason not to be around me anymore, I don't know what is." I gave a weak laugh.

The detective was silent. I heard nothing more than the normal sounds of the streets of London. I had a feeling that my words had upset him, and was just as uncomfortable as he was. Thankfully a cab pulled up.

Sherlock helped me in, giving me that useless and empty feeling once more. He folded up the wheelchair, putting it in the back and got in himself. The cab driver gave me a small look of pity.

"Where to boys?" he asked.

I answered quickly. "1755 Mangolia Way sir."

The entire ride was silent. When we finally got there, Sherlock got out and set up the wheel chair for me once more, as I paid the driver. With Sherlock's assistance, I got out and up the three steps that led to my front door. I unlocked the door and rolled in. I frowned as I saw the look of everything.

Sherlock surprised me, as he set about to cleaning everything. He didn't once glance my way or say anything. I cast my eyes downward, remembering the dream of the ship earlier. Part of me wanted to go back, pull the trigger of that gun. The other knew I couldn't, wouldn't, break Sherlock's heart like that. But I felt so helpless, unable to do anything. So I mainly sat and stared slowly nodding off. Before I knew it, I was sound asleep.

* * *

 _Eight Hours Later_

I awoke in my bed, Sherlock on the floor, looking extremely uncomfortable. I went to get up, when I remembered I couldn't. I sighed and tried to go back to sleep. I didn't have the heart to awake the detective. I knew he wouldn't mind, but still.

Deciding to try getting out of bed myself, I turned my legs towards the edge of the bed so they were hanging limply. I slid off, and tried to put weight on them, but as soon as I did, I crumpled to the floor. Sherlock moved as quick lightning.

"Oh gosh, John! What happened?" he moved around to help me up.

I felt the tears coming again. "Just trying to get out of bed. I didn't want to wake you." I muttered.

"Oh John, you should've. I would've helped you. You should know that. I'll always help you." he put me on the wheelchair, which I was starting to hate as much as the color white.

"I know. I just hate it. It makes me feel so helpless and worthless."

"Must I tell you again? You aren't worthless, and so what? You need a little help getting around. That doesn't make you helpless. You just have to trust me. Sometimes accepting help saves your life." he looked meaningful at me, showing that what he was saying was true. "Now come on. Let's make breakfast and then get back to work on this case."

Well both headed that way a small piece of me reinsured. Both by that distraction we both managed to miss an extremely important detail.

We missed the two pairs of eyes, starting in on us.

* * *

 **Double update again! Who knew I could be so motivated? Thank you so much for the review, and I hope y'all enjoyed! Please review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	11. Chapter 10

_John's P.O.V._

"Okay then, so leads. If we plan to get anywhere on this, we need a lead." Sherlock started.

"Your dealer is a good place to start. If we find where he got the cocaine, than we might be able to find some link to the terrorist cell." I suggested. "And if that doesn't work, well, then, I don't really know."

"We'll figure something out. But since that's all we have right now, we might as well head out."

He started to walk out, trench coat and all. When I didn't follow, he looked curiously at me. "Well? Are you coming?"

I shook my head. "No. I think I should just stay here. It'll be easier for you than having to help me around everywhere. And if you end up in one of your normal chase scenes, I wouldn't be able to follow." I reasoned.

"That may be true, but I wouldn't leave you behind. I'd be with you before anything else. Come on now. We don't have all day and I need a partner. It's not like I'm going to ask Anderson to come and work with me. That would be disastrous." he shook his head violently at the thought.

"Go on Sherlock," I told him. "I'll be right here when you get back. Just go get our lead. I'll come next time."

The detective's look of excitement disappeared, being replaced with a look of sadness. "If you insist."

I bit my lip as he walked out the door. Never before have I felt so guilty about refusing to go somewhere. I shrugged though and turned back to the case files. He would be fine. This was Sherlock Holmes we were talking about after all.

* * *

 _Sherlock's P.O.V._

I closed the door slowly behind me. I hated to say it, but I really had no desire to go investigate this lead without John. I don't know what got into him. So he couldn't walk. That didn't mean he was any less my friend. I don't see why something so small could effect a man who had saved my life numerous times.

I tried to feel what he was feeling, how ashamed I might be because of a silly wheelchair. He had tried to let in not show through, but he was thoroughly embarrassed by it and I had just chosen now to say anything, to try to be somewhat polite.

A sharp car horn brought me out of my thoughts. I looked up and saw the tall building most of the dealers hung about in. Weird how I could get here without even thinking about it. I just knew where it was.

At that thought, anger rosed inside of me. My stupid drug habits had started this all. I was the reason for my best friend being stuck in a wheelchair. He should've just let me die. I didn't deserve to be saved. Suddenly I was angry at not just myself, but at what was in this building. I marched up the stairs, looking for Rico, the dealer I normally bought from.

"Ah Sherlock! Back for more so soon? I sold you quite a bit last time." the dealer snuck up behind me.

I laughed. "As if. No, I want to know where you got it from." I demanded.

"And what, please do tell, makes you think I'd give you that information? I'm sworn to not say a word."

I picked him up by his shirt. "Now listen and listen closely. If you value your poor miserable life you will tell me what I need to know, and you'll tell me now." I whispered into his ear. "So where did you get it from?"

"Hehe. I'll never tell. If die today nothing will go to waste. I'm a drug dealer, I have nothing." he snarked.

I looked at him carefully. "Nothing except a five year old son who'll be very disappointed if his father doesn't come home tonight."

His eyes grew wide. "How did you know about William? I never told you."

"No need to. The way you hold yourself does all the talking. Now tell me, or I will make sure your son suffers."

"Alright! I got from someone who said they wanted you dead before they launched the real attack because they knew you were the only one who could stop them. He never said his name just told me the group's name was Black Fear. Please. Just don't hurt William." the man splurged the information I wanted to me.

I dropped him on the ground, kicking the disgusting piece of filth away from me. I walked out of the stupid building, swearing never to return. Black Fear though. I knew I had heard of this group before. They left very few leads, no evidence, and was a very low profile cell. But even than I still had a valuable piece of information.

I knew where their main hot spot was.

* * *

 _John's P.O.V._

I jumped in surprise when Sherlock burst through my front door. He looked excited and I couldn't tell you why. At least he did get over the fact I hadn't came with him. Besides I'm pretty sure I didn't want to know what threat he made to get his dealer to talk. Probably something horrible.

"So what did you find out?" I questioned.

"What did I find out? Only the name of the group and their main hot spot! This case will be cracked in a jiffy! But we will need back up. I would be a fool to think the two of us could take on this cell alone! I'm going to call Lestrade." he picked up the phone, dialing a number.

"Yes, hello. Is this Detective Inspector Lestrade speaking. Good. This is Sherlock. Where am I? It doesn't matter just send all the backup you can get to the old underground prison where we once hit that first terrorist cell. Yes he's with me, why do you ask? Bloody hell he can't! If wants to he'll come and you and the entire British army can't stop him! We are a team Lestrade, we start as a team, we end as a team, we die as a team. If John Watson wants to achieve something, I like to see you try to stop him. See you in an hour." he hung up the phone and turned to me.

"Do you want to come along this time?" he asked, and I nearly missed the pleading note in his voice.

I looked down, knowing I was about to break his heart. "No. Go without me. I'll only be in the way."

"No you won't! You'll be excellent help! Besides, you're my partner, my teammate, my friend. I need you there."

"Sherlock, just think about it for a second. I will be in the way, you and I both know it. I'm sorry, but I just can't solve cases with you anymore."

The rejected look in his eyes made me want to cry. "I understand. I'm sorry."

He left quickly and quietly. A tear slid down my face and I know one slid down his.

* * *

 **Oh no! Is this the end of the team we all know and love? Find out when we return. I hope enjoyed and please review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	12. Chapter 11

_John's P.O.V._

I sat there, staring at wall, completely bored. I knew it was a good thing I hadn't gone, I would only get in the way. But part of me couldn't help, but think about that look on Sherlock's face when I told him I shouldn't solve cases with him. It reminded me of the look a baby got when you took away their bottle or toy. Rejected, alone, scared, sad. These were all things that described what I had seen on his face. And it hurt. It hurt to do that to him, but it was necessary he stayed away from me.

I rolled down the hall opening a door at the end. I scavenged around it a little bit before I felt the familiar feel of steel. It was loaded with three bullets and was only for emergencies. What I needed it for most defiantly qualified as one.

I turned on the radio, a grim smile spreading across my face. Never has a song fit so well. Leaning back some, I put the gun to my head, and returned to the ship...

"I knew you couldn't resist the temptation." Sherlock chuckled.

It was just as I remembered it. The swaying ship, the giant waves, the dead body. He was still holding a gun to his head and I held one to mine. Secretly I knew this could only end one way, and no one would like the result. The music faded in and out, not entirely clear until I years the chorus.

 _He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger_

 _And finally drank away her memory_

 _Life is short but this time it was bigger_

 _Than the strength he had to get up off his knees_

 _We found him with his face down in the pillow_

 _With a note that said I'll love her till I die_

 _And when we buried him beneath the willow_

 _The angels sang a whiskey lullaby_

 _La, la, la, la, la, la, la. La, la, la, la, la, la, la._

"Come on. You know you want to do this. You don't want to hurt Sherlock anymore than you already have. Just one little pull and this'll all be over. Do it. I know you have what it takes." Sherlock whispered.

I shook my head. "No. This isn't what he wants. He needs me."

"That's what he says. He's only trying to make you feel good. He's a sociopath remember? He doesn't care about anyone or feel anything. He'll be happy when you're gone." he hissed.

"No, that can't be true. He cares. I know he does." my heart racing. "He's my best friend."

"No he doesn't. He doesn't care. He wants you dead. He doesn't want to be around a man who can't walk. He could care less if you live. He hates you!" the voices pounced on me, attacking like a pack of wolves.

I screamed in terror as actual wolves started running towards me, snarling. The voices, the wolves, the temptation, it was all to much. I fell to my knees as they all piled on me, one by one. I heard another voice, one I once thought I could trust. But as the betrayed me once more, I knew I couldn't.

"You're worthless! You're useless! You're nobody! You're the reason I'm in this bloody situation. I'm hope you're happy, you piece of filth."

I looked up to see Sherlock smirking, and with a final kick, I knew that everything he said was true. And so I pulled the trigger.

BANG!

 _And the angels sang a whiskey lullaby._

 _La, la, la, la, la, la, la. La, la, la, la, la, la, la._

* * *

 _Sherlock's P.O.V._

I was heading back to John's house mainly because I had forgotten to grab my coat. I was three houses away when I heard the gun shot. Knowing it couldn't have came from anywhere else I ran as fast as I possibly could, my brain screaming to hurry up and get there.

I stormed in the door and wasn't sure to be surprised or scared as I entered the living room. When I got there, I stopped. My heart skipped a few beats as I all I could do was collapse, tears streaming down my face...

* * *

 **Well? What did you think? Hope you enjoyed and please review!**

 **Best Rega...**

 **Sherlock: Hold on! Aren't you forgetting something?**

 **Me: Huh?**

 **Sherlock: The song?**

 **Me: Oh yeah! I don't own the song Whisky Lullaby! All rights go to Brad Paisely.**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	13. Chapter 12

_John's P.O.V._

When Sherlock fell on his knees, I almost had a heart-attack. I didn't think of anything that could be wrong, and then I recalled it. The gunshot, the song. I could see how this might concern him. I guess it's a good thing I was careful not to shoot myself. I had merely fired at the wall. As I looked closer, I saw that he was crying, that actual tears we're falling down his face.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" I whispered.

"Oh John. Thank the Lord above you're alright. I was so scared you had done it. That you were gone. Please, don't ever do that to me again." he sobbed.

I moved over to him, putting my hand on his shoulder. "Oh gosh. I'm so sorry Sherlock. I wasn't trying to scare you, I just wanted to, you know, how close I could go before backing out.

"Why? Why would you want to leave me alone on this wretched earth?" he muttered. "I still need you John."

He still needed me? Why would he need anyone never the less me? I guess he wasn't truely a sociopath after all. "Need me? Why do you need me?" I questioned.

"Because my entire life not a single person has ever been behind me. They all would say, 'Oh look, there goes that stupid detective with all his crazy ideas and hopes and dreams.' or 'That'll fail. It's not physically possible for it to happen." But you never said any of those things. You believed I could do something. You're the only one who ever has. You gave me hope that one day, I could actually succeed."

My throat went dry, guilty that I had almost left the man who needed me so much that he had let down his facade to show true emotion. I put the gun in his hands, after I had removed the bullets. He looked up at me, surprised of my actions.

"Take it. Get rid of it. Just get the temptation away from me. I, I don't deserve a friend like you." I said. "I never deserved a friend like you."

"Come on now. Don't lie to yourself. You're the kindest person in the world. Lying to yourself will only ruin that. It's the first seed of self-doubt. Now I need to get rid of this." he said this with such a sneer you might've thought it was a bag of liver. "And then I must return to my original destination of an underground terrorist cell operation. Could I maybe convince you to come with me?" he gave me a meaningful look.

"I'm serious when I tell you that I would just be in the way. This is something you have to do by yourself." I insisted.

He frowned, but nodded. "Okay, you may be right, but you listen here John Watson, and you listen well. If I come back and find you dead or trying to kill yourself, I'll bring you back to life and kill you myself," he glared as hard as he could.

"Don't worry, I promise you, you won't find me dead."

"Well then, if you'll excuse me, I believe I have a crime scene to get to." he walked away slowly, nervousness throughout his body showing.

He slid into his coat, and quickly spun on me. "John I'm serious. Please don't leave me while I'm out."

"I promise you Sherlock. I won't do anything stupid."

"Your life's not your own John," he said. "Keep your hands off it."

He left me pondering what exactly he meant and feeling extremely guilty for what I had just about done...

* * *

 _Sherlock's P.O.V._

"Your life's not your own John," I has said. "Keep your hands off it."

I knew he would be confused with that message. And to tell the truth, I was counting on it. I didn't want him to die, I really didn't. But he was stubborn. Oh was he ever. I trusted him with my life, but after that little incident, I'd be an idiot to trust him with his own.

I didn't want to doubt him. I just wanted him to live. So my own death was scheduled in twenty-four days. And yes I only had him and few others. It didn't mean I wanted him to take his own life. I loved that man dearly. He was my best friend. My only friend. I once told him I don't have 'friends'. I wasn't lying. I only have one.

I was desperate to solve this case because I wanted to have more time to spend with John, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, and believe it or not, Mycroft. He may be the biggest pain in the neck, to put it nicely, in the universe, but he was still my brother. I still loved him, whatever that word meant.

Arriving at the old terrorist hideout, I quickly found Lestrade. Mainly because he was running at me.

"Oh good, you showed up. Now RUN. You don't want to see this." he stopped to talk for a slight second before sprinting off again.

I looked the direction he was coming from and nearly panicked.

"Oh god... What is that!"

A giant ball of what seemed to be fire was hurling out the tunnel engulfing people one by one. I turned and started to run, unsure if any of use were about to make it out alive. I caught up to Lesrade and once we were a good 500 meters away we veered sharply to left. We continued to run, barely making it out it's path. It stopped as suddenly as it started as it crashed into a building, an epic explosion happening. Watching the building shake violently and deathly screams, we looked back on it's path.

Over fifty people laid dead, and we were they only two who had made it out of it's path. Looking back at the building it started to collapse and we realized that we hadn't just lost a battle. We had just started a war.

* * *

 **Hey everyone! I'm back with another chapter! I'm sure you're happy that John's not dead. I know I'm not. Though once I finish this story I will be writing from this chapter and beyond a much... darker ending. Thank you all for the extreme amount of support I got for the last chapter. I hope you enjoyed and please review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	14. Chapter 13

_John's P.O.V._

I sat there, staring blankly at the Tv. It was a really good thing I hadn't gone. There was no way in hell I could've gotten out of there in time. In fact I'm not sure Sherlock got out of there.

"So far into the search of the central trading tower, they have found no survivors. Sixty-eight people lay dead from the explosion path. Only two people survived, both practically non-injured. The two are Detective Inspeter Lestrade and semi famous Sherlock Holmes. Both are being taken in to be checked for radiation poison and mental trama. We also hope to question them for information on the fire ball. Between our London's emergency force and our military force, the Americans are sending over 200 troups to help mo..." the reporter announced.

I cut her off mid sentence, not really caring if the Americans were about to go and start World War III. Sherlock was okay and that's all that mattered. Leaning back, I frowned and the words Sherlock had told me earlier. I still hadn't figured it out.

"Your life isn't your own so keep your hands off it." I muttered the words he had told me.

How was my life not my own? It didn't make sense. I sighed, a sense of realization coming over me. He wasn't saying that it wasn't my own life, but that I wouldn't be the one affected by my death. I'd be dead. That's all that would happen. But others, the ones who cared about me, would have to deal with so much.

I turned the television back on just in time to see Lestrade being questioned. Behind him stood Sherlock, who looked extremely uncomfortable with how many cameras were pointing at him. Lestrade wasn't much better though. His body was stiff, and both men were in rough shape, clothes slightly burned and cuts where flying metal and debri had been thrown at them from the explosion.

"Detective Inspector, what exactly happened back there at the tunnel?" a man with a small, yet shaggy, mustache asked.

"Well there was an explosion from the..." he started to say when a woman interrupted him.

The woman had dark, shoulder length, brown hair. She held herself sharply, and was very disturbing. One eye a deep blue and the other was steel grey. It gave her a nerve pinching look. Someone you wouldn't readily want to mess with.

"Yes, yes," she scoffed, "we know that. But what else happened there? What caused us the explosion? Why was it a ball of rolling fire? Why were you there in the first place? Please don't waste our time on piddle paddle."

Sherlock's eyes lit up with fury and I shrank back in my seat, glad I wasn't there. If Sherlock was scary through a telie, I'd hate to see what he was like in real life.

"Mam, we have narrowly escaped with our lives only a mere 45 minutes ago. We are both slightly in shock and have no want or use for your attitude. So I ask you to kindly back off or leave," Sherlock's words rolled off his tounge like they were venomous. "Now. We are not answering anymore questions about the fireball. If there is anything else please speak up now."

The man with beard spoke again. "Yes. What were you doing there? Out of pure curiosity," the man asked, clearly no desire of harm or hatred in his voice.

Sherlock regarded him closely. "Trying to catch a terrorist cell. That's the last question and we're done here."

Lestrade opened his mouth, looked at the consulting detective, and closed it again. Both walked out of the room and the main reporter popped back up.

"Now, with some footage of the explosion," she said calmly.

I started to shake as soon as I watched the short twenty second video. I was suddenly terrified. Closing my eyes, I was back in Afghanistan, bombs exploding all around me. I heard an RPG go off and turned my head towards the landing place. I looked back towards the low bunker, where everyone was hiding. I heard the low sound of a rifle. A sniper rifle. I felt the bullet go through my shoulder, and slowly I hit the ground...

* * *

 _Sherlock's P.O.V._

I was enraged when that woman inturupted Lestrade. She wasn't only rude, but unsettling too. Something about her was suspicious. I didn't like it one bit.

We were released from the hospital as soon as the reports for radiation poisoning came back clear. Lestrade had a bandage around his head, and I had one on my right forearm. Our clothes were singed and smelled of smoke, but other than that, we were in excellent condition. We shook hands and he headed off towards the police department. I headed back to my flat to get some fresh clothing and then headed back to John's.

I ran up the front steps, and used the key I had snatched a while back to open the locked door. John was sitting in his wheelchair, twitching. The Tv was on a channel explaining the explosion. I quickly switched it off, and turned to John, who still sat twitching violently and soft tears on his cheeks. Touching his shoulder, his eyes tore open and he bolted. Well he tried to bolt. He merely fell out of the chair and I barely caught him. Tears were still falling and I wiped them away softly.

"John? John can you hear me? Is everything okay?" I questioned softly.

"It hurts," was all he said. "Just make the pain go away Coburn. Just make it all go away."

Coburn. That had been the man who had died in battle for John when he was shot. He must've seen the explosion and had a relaspe. Now he thought he was still in the war, bombs exploding, guns firing, men shouting.

I had no clue what to do. When he had nightmares of the war I knew ice often helped, along with raw rice. But a relapse was different. What would help him here?

My phone rang and I rolled my eyes at the caller I.D. Mycroft. Flipping it open, I answered annoyed.

"What?" I hissed.

The person on the other end was anyone, but my brother.

* * *

 **Hey everyone! I feel really bad for not updating. It's been a week. I've just been busy with life and math. Mostly math. Well thank you all for your support and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review!**

 **Also, I finally finished season four, and for the sake of not wanting to re-write the entire story, will not be changing any of it.**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	15. Chapter 14

_Sherlock's P.O.V._

"Hello Mr. Holmes. Have you been having an exciting day? I know we have," a deep, manly voice came through the phone's ear piece.

"Who is this? How do you know my name?" I questioned. "Where are you?"

"I am a Black Fear oppertive. I know your name, Mr. Holmes because I know many things. Like that you are standing exactly one foot and ten inches from Dr. Watson. Don't bother looking around. I can see you, but you can't see me. You'll never see me until your dying breath," the voice hissed, a slight chuckle arising.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose. I could almost feel someone or something staring at me. I glanced around quickly, not finding the source. I turned his attention back to the man on the phone.

"I told you. I can see you, you can't see me. Now listen closely Mr. Holmes. There is a woman coming to pick you up. You might remember her from the press conference. You will go with her. You not argue or fight. If you play nice, you'll merely be tied up and tossed in the van," the voice had became softer, almost as if it was trying to be patient.

I, on the other hand, didn't care. I was angry and nothing this man said or did would change that. "And what if I don't?" I hissed.

The voice laughed. "Then not only will you be tied up, you'll be forced to watch Dr. Watson die."

My heart stopped in my chest. Who knew what they'd do to me if I went with them. But If I didn't John would die. It was a lose lose situation. I nodded slowly, eyes latched on the semi-conscious man in the chair.

"Now that you understand that, We have one more card to play Mr. Holmes. Hmmm... There are two Mr. Holmes, aren't there? It'd be a shame if something happened to one of them. But of course, we all know there's no love lost between the two Holmes brothers, so surely one wouldn't mind loosing the other? Would you?"

"Mycroft," I whispered. "What have you done to him!"

"Oh silly Sherlock. You should be asking what haven't we done to him?" another cackle came from the person, no monster, on the other end. "He'll be lucky to see tomorrow. Last time I checked, not only was he bleeding uncontrollably, but he was also in dire need of an antidote."

I didn't say anything. My breathing quickened and my heart started to beat harder and quicker. I bit my lip, trying to ward off the tears I felt coming. Why were they doing this? Why did they feel the need to torture me?

"Now, now. Don't cry. You survived the poison. Granted you were in a place where they had the antidote. The antidote that takes ten days to make a single dose. The antidote that each hospital is only allowed to carry one dose, it's so rare to be poisoned that way. Come to think of it, you essentially killed your own brother! That must make you so proud of yourself. I know I would be thoroughly ashamed. But you. You're nothing more than a cocky, self-absorbed, arrogant man. You don't care at all that your brother will die soon and you're the reason why," the voice hissed violently.

I thought I was going to be sick. Mycroft was dying. He was dying and it was my fault. I started to breath even harder, feeling light-headed. My stomach lurched and I was sure I was going to throw up. The voice on the phone said a few more words.

"You have two minutes. She'll be here to pick you up. I hope you're happy Sherlock Holmes. Goodbye. I can assure you, we'll see each other soon."

The call ended with a click. I fell to my knees and quickly sent a text to Lestrade, asking him to come and keep an eye on John. I also told him I would probably not be able to respond, so don't bother texting back. I heard a knock on the door and all hope drained from me.

Opening the front door, there she stood. The lady with one dark blue eye, and one steel gray eye. She had changed from a tight reporter's outfit, to a green camouflaged shirt, and a light blue pair of jeans. Her lipstick was gone, giving her a less formal look, but she was still someone you wouldn't readily want to mess with.

"Hello Mr. Holmes. Ready to go? I know there's someone who's dying to see you," her voice was much smoother and surprisingly kinder than earlier.

I nodded, allowing my hands to be tied together. She searched me for a weapon. Finding nothing on me except my phone, she slipped it into her pocket and pushed me in the van. The van was black with no license plates and the only windows were the windshields, and the front two windows. I was pushed onto my stomach and my legs were bound at my ankles, knees, and then trying my around my body. She gagged me and snapped a metal cuff on my left wrist, tightening the ropes so that they cut into my skin. The metal cuff was attached to about a half foot of chain, allowing none to very little room to move.

Leaning down, she kissed me right below the right earlobe. "You and I," she whispered, "we're going to have such great fun. Don't worry. You won't be hurt any less than your brother. He knows this is your fault. I can't wait to see what he does to you."

Slamming the door shut, I let a single tear slid down my cheek. I guess I was finally getting what I deserved after all that I had done.

I was finally getting my punishment.

* * *

 _John's P.O.V._

"Hurry! We're loosing him!" a surgeon shouted.

Another bomb exploded, extremely close to tent, and the ground shook. I could barely open my eyes and I had no clue where exactly I was, but I did know one thing for sure. The pain in my shoulder was real. Something pressed against me, and I cried out in pain. Someone smoothed my hair and whispered quietly in my ear.

"Hold on captain. You're going to get through this sir."

"Coburn," I managed.

"No sir. Don't speak. Just rest. We're going to help you," the faithful sergeant stood there with me. "I'll be with the entire time."

"No. The fight. The other men. They need a leader," I coughed. "You have to get them out of there."

Coburn hesitated. "Sir. Are you sure?"

"That's an order sergeant. Get. Them. Out," I said through clenched teeth.

He saluted me and nodded, a determined look in his eyes. "Yes sir! Gates, Yuno! With me! Rally up the A team and them out! We have some troops to save!"

I opened my eyes enough to see the three men run out, no one except Coburn looking back. He knew his mission, and he gave me a promise.

"I'll get them out of there sir."

That's all I remembered before blacking out.

* * *

 **Hey everyone! There's the next chapter! Finally getting interesting isn't it? Well anyway, that last part was thanks to the song, War Zone by Building429. Thank you so much to everyone for the reviews! Please enjoy and review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**

War Zone, Building429


	16. Chapter 15

_Sherlock's P.O.V._

The van took another sharp right, and as I rolled across the van floor and my head hit the piece of metal connecting the chain to the floor, I felt blood splatter against my cheek. There was no doubt about it, I was bleeding. It hurt to move, and my arms and legs were stiff. I was starting to loose the feeling in my hands. Everything was just pure torture.

Thinking back to Mycroft and John and all the pain I had caused them, I knew it was only fair. Mycroft and I may have never gotten along, but I always was there when he needed me, and he was there when I needed him. If for no other reason than to have him forgive me for the pain I caused, I would die. But there was no way to save him. As the van screeched to a stop, I prepared myself for the worst.

The door flung open, and I had to squint to help my eyes adjust to blinding light that came in. She took the hook off and pulled me out. I groaned as my head hit the hot concrete. I looked towards the woman as she pulled me my feet.

"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up. Wouldn't want your brother to see you all dirty now would we?" she smirked.

I shook my head. "Actually I would."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Just because. Its just something I want," I answered, choking on my own words. "You wouldn't understand."

She rolled her eyes, and pushed me towards what looked like an old missile silo. We went down about three flights of stairs and I could confirm it was indeed an abandoned missile silo. There were four doors, one of which had a window, and was halfway open. The other three had top of the notch locks, and one even had a slidding chain lock with a padlock attached. From the way we were heading, I guessed that was our door.

We stopped in front of it, and the woman unbound everything except the chain on my wrist. Unlocking the door, she shoved me in, removed the chain and slammed the door. I turned and looked around the dim room. There was very little light and it was mainly coming from the three small windows at the very top of the room. Something moved and I whipped my head towards it.

"Sherlock?" came a small whisper.

My heart broke and I ran as fast as I could to my brother. He was pale and shaking. All the signs I had when I was poisoned. I wrapped my arms around my older brother and just knelt there. We were both covered in blood, and every time Mycroft took a breath, his eyes became more and more diluted.

"I'm so sorry Mycroft. I couldn't solve it. I don't know what happen. I'm sorry." I sobbed into his shirt, a sudden rush of emotions catching me off guard. "This is all my fault. I've been an idiot."

Mycroft could barely whisper and just leaned his head on my shoulder. "Can't blame you. I lied. I set you up. I'm guilty for this. I deserve to die," he muttered, a single tear fell down his face.

I tensed at the thought of my own brother setting me up to fail. I knew we didn't get along, but I would've never expected this from him. I wouldn't do this to him. For a split second I thought about getting up and walking away. I wasn't sure what to do. But my brain quickly processed the last words he said. 'I deserve to die.' Instead of pushing him away, I pulled him closer, embracing him.

"Don't say that. You don't deserve to die. Please don't die. I've already almost lost my best friend today. Don't let me loose my brother too."

Tears rolled down both our faces, neither of us really concerned though. Mycroft was dying and was on the list too. The east wind was coming and neither of us could even think about stopping it.

* * *

 _John's P.O.V._

"Sir! You're awake!" someone shouted.

A round of applause went through the room. I looked around, as two soldiers helped sit me up. I quickly remembered my last orders and searched the room, my stomach sinking when I couldn't find Coburn. Dread in my eyes, I looked towards the two other soldiers who went with him.

"Where's Coburn?" I questioned.

Yuno looked down, while Gates answered hesitantly. "Sir he was shot in the retreat. Seven others and himself were killed sir. I'm sorry sir."

My heart nearly stopped. Coburn was dead? That wasn't possible. He was the best man on the force. I looked back towards Gates, a sense of dread hanging about me now.

"Who were the others corporal?"

"Morris, Anderson, Peterson, Hill, Sutton, Sack, and Brush. They're all dead sir. I'm sorry sir. We tried to get all the bodies out. We were unable to recover two. That would be Sack and Hill," Gates voice wavered as he mentioned the fallen troups.

"Not your fault corporal. Go check on the rest of the force. You too Yuno."

"Yes sir," they said together.

They walked out and I leaned back, fighting the pain and tears. I couldn't believe Coburn was dead. We had fought side by side for years and now that he was gone I wasn't sure what would happen...

"John! John wake up!" someone shouted.

I looked around, utterly confused as I was the only one in the room. Slowly another man came into view, but he blurry.

"John! Can you hear me? John?" he said again.

I tried to keep my eyes open but I was to exhausted. All I remember before blacking out was the man saying my name again.

"John?"

* * *

 **Hello everyone! Here's another update! I do hope you've enjoyed it. Thank you so much for all the reviews! You guys rock! Please review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	17. Chapter 16

_John's P.O.V._

Some one shook my and I slowly opened my eyes, my eyelids feeling stiff and heavy. In front of me stood Lestrade, a worried look on his face. I went to stand and quickly remembered I couldn't. Looking away, slightly ashamed, Lestrade just put his hand on my shoulder.

"It's alright. I'm here," he said gently.

"Where's Sherlock? Did he ever come back from the press conference?" I questioned.

He looked at me confused. "He's the one who asked me to meet him here. See," he worked his phone out of his pocket, "he sent me this text."

Lestade handed me his phone and I took it hesitantly. 'Lestrade, come to 1755 Mangolia Way and keep an eye on John please. I won't be able to respond so don't bother texting back. SH'. I handed the phone back and fused my eyebrows together.

"He wasn't here when you got here? I don't even remember him coming back at all," I asked.

Lestrade shook his head. "No. I know he just randomly leaves at times, but I really don't think or believe he would just leave you at random with what has been going on. It's a risk I don't think he'd take."

"Me either. We should contact Mycroft. He has camaras everywhere. I'm sure he'll know where Sherlock is," I suggested.

Lestrade nodded, and dialed up Mycroft while I retraced my memories. I couldn't remember anything after watching the fireball explode on the Tv. I turned the Tv back on, not exactly sure when and who turned it off. It was something about heavy rainfall expected in London in the next two days, and I turned it back off, finding nothing that might help. Lestrade turned and looked at me confused.

"Has Mycroft ever let his phone go to voicemail?" he questioned.

I shook my head. "Not that I recall. Why?"

"Because he didn't answer and I have a really bad feeling that if both Holmes are missing something has gone terribly wrong..."

* * *

 _Sherlock's P.O.V._

Physically, I was in perfect shape. They hadn't whipped me, punched me, denied me food or water(even if it was just half a loaf of stall bread a day), or done really anything that would leave a bruise, other than ropeburns on my wrists and ankles and a small cut on my forehead from the trip in the van. But mentally and emotionally, I was dying. There was a constant taunt in my head that made every small thing they did seem like my fault. They beat Mycroft every two hours and I was forced to watch. I made me want to puke every time they touched him. I'd try to lunge at him, but when I did that they were quick to make me regret it.

After each beating they untied Mycroft, and kicked him across the floor, into the corner I first saw him in. What made it ten times worse was that Mycroft just accepted the beating. No struggling or cursing. He just laid there and took it. It was almost like my strong willed and stubborn brother didn't exist anymore. He was just a shell of his former self. Of course, I knew it wouldn't be long before he was dead from that damn poison.

It still hurt though. Hour after hour, beating after beating, I was just practically watching him die. I couldn't do anything about it. A few times I wondered if Lestrade had gotten my text, and had gone to check on John. Hopefully he had, and that he would notice something was wrong with me not being there. As much as I want to help John, I knew that at this moment my brother was more important.

Mycroft hasn't said a single word to me since I've first arrived. Part of it is that it hurts for him to talk. That's the poisons doing. The other part is he still believes he deserves to die and I have no way to convince him otherwise. I still hug him, I still whisper into his ear, I still love him, but nothing affects him. I think this is what hurts most of all. That he won't believe me when I tell him I love him and that I still need him.

He hasn't been conscious for about half an hour now. I check his pulse regularly to make sure he's still alive, but I know he won't be for long. Any minute now my brother will be dead, and I'll have no one to blame except for myself...

* * *

 **Hello my beautiful readers. I'm so sorry about not updating for a while. I've been busy, and kinda stuck on where to go exactly with this story! I'm going on a weekend trip with my CAP squadron so I won't be on much until late afternoon Sunday. I do hope to get another chapter posted by Monday, so I hope to see you then! Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! I hope you enjoyed and please review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	18. Chapter 17

_John's P.O.V._

No one had seen Mycroft for over three days. Anthea was concerned and they had already put out a missing person report. After explaining the situation with Sherlock, she was quick to start one for him. Within an hour, every news channel, and radio station sent out a report on both men every two hours.

Lestrade had gotten take out, and had decided to start a police task force to help with the search. He knew Sherlock would hate it, but he quickly picked Anderson and Donavan for lead forensics and officer. They may hate him and he may hate them, but they were the best there were. Both were willing to drop everything to help search. I knew that Sherlock's deathline was coming up fast with only around twenty-two days left.

I somehow fell asleep, quickly finding myself in a dreamless sleep. There was nothing until three in the morning when Lestrade and I jumped at the sound of a ringing phone. He scrambled to pick it up, and answered groggily.

"Hello?"

"Lestrade, this is Anthea. We think we might've found where they took Sherlock. I'm sending over someone to pick you up. They'll be there in fifteen minutes," I could faintly hear Anthea's voice.

I smiled, wanting to shout for joy and Letrade did the same. Anthea started talking again, giving us instructions, on what we should do, and what was about to happen.

"In the car you'll find assault rifles and hand guns. Take both along with two magazines for each. They are all loaded and ready to go. There's four bullet proof vests. Two are John and you, the others are for Sherlock and Mycroft if they are there. I've also stocked the car with some hand grenades and smoke bombs if necessary. Be safe and get them out of there. I've already sent your police force there to surround the area. They are to let no one, but you and John in."

"Thank you Anthea. We'll do our best," Letrade said.

The line went dead, and I smiled broadly until I remembered one small, overlooked detail. "Lestrade. I can't walk. How am I going to help get them out?"

"I've actually been working on that. Anderson should have it ready and with him when we get there. Just don't worry. Lock up the case files. And meet me outside. We have to get there as soon as possible!" he reinsured me.

I did as ordered, and we were quickly picked up. It took us less than half an hour to get to the sight. It looked a lot like one of our missile silos left over from the Cold War. As we came closer, I could tell indeed it was. Lestrade got out, telling me to wait here.

He quickly came back with Anderson and what looked like a combat uniform. I took it and gave them a questioning look. Anderson just smiled, as he pulled out a small ear piece and handed it to me.

"You didn't think all I did was forensics? Put it on. Then you'll understand," he nodded encouragingly.

I quickly changed and put in the ear piece. I strapped on a shoulder holster and put the hand gun in it, then taking up the assault rifle, I stuffed two magazines in each cargo pocket. When I came out, Letrade and Anderson quickly pulled me on to my feet and let go.

I was surprised and almost fell back before I felt myself become steady. I warily took a small step, smiling when I didn't fall. I walked about ten feet and came back. I was so amazed I couldn't even talk.

Anderson leaned against the car with his arms folded across his chest. "Well? What do you think?"

"I, words, I can't, I don't know what to say. This is amazing Anderson. How did you do it?" I gapped.

"It was request from Sherlock. They're aren't completely finished so the battery will be used up quickly. You have no more than fourty-five to get Sherlock and Mycroft out of there," Anderson explained. "Just get them out of there."

I nodded and turned to Lestrade. "Ready to go?"

"Ready to go."

We went down the stairs, assault rifles at the ready. We found four doors. I nodded and we kicked in the first two, finding both empty. We went to the third and the fourth and kicked those in too. The third room was empty, but sitting in the middle of the fourth room was Sherlock holding his brother sobbing, looking terrified. My heart stopped in my chest as I slowly lowered my rifle. I handed it Lestrade and raced to Sherlock.

Getting down on my knees, my heart broke as I saw him flinch and grasp him brother tighter. I placed my hand gently on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. "Sherlock. It's alright. I've got you."

He broke down sobbing even harder than before, and I pressed two fingers to Mycroft's neck. There was a pulse, but it was weak. Lestrade hollered up the stairs and six army paramedics rushed down. They took Mycroft as I held Sherlock back from chasing them.

"No! Please! Don't take him! Please! He's my brother! Please! I beg you please! Let me go with him! Please! Please. Just let me go with him," he broke down, falling out of my arms and onto the concret floor below.

I picked him up and carried him out of his cell. We loaded him onto an ambulance and quickly followed, but not before I changed. I gave the suit back to Anderson, thanking him for the help. He nodded and went back to the rest of the forensics team.

We went into the dreaded hospital to find Sherlock fighting, screaming. Racing towards him Lestrade caught him before he crumbled to the floor. Tears streamed down his face as he shouted Mycroft's name, over and over again. I saw a doctor waiting patiently near the door and wheeled over to him.

"Do have information on Mycroft Holmes?" I asked.

He nodded gravely. "I'm afraid I do sir. He's dying. He has approximately four hours to live. It's a surprise he's lasted this long with how much poison was delivered to him. Even if we did have the antidote, I'm afraid it would be too late. There's nothing we can do."

"It's alright. You've done your best. Thank you anyway."

He walked away, and I looked back towards the broken man, sobbing on the floor and I knew in my heart, that it was not alright. Mycroft Holmes was to die in four hours and I was afraid Sherlock might also.

* * *

 **Hey! Sorry this took me longer than I hoped! Thank you all for the amazing reviews! They really mean a lot to me! I hope enjoyed and please review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	19. Chapter 18

_John's P.O.V._

He stood there for almost four hours before doing anything at all. He watched his brother die and said nothing, felt nothing. He had fifteen minutes to say goodbye before they pulled the plug and that's when it happened. He wrapped his arms around his brother, apologising for everything he had ever done to him. He refused to let even one tear fall. He muttered 'I love you Mycroft' over and over again. Two nurses came in and he nodded. Kissing his brother on the cheek, he said goodbye and turned away. I watched sadly as they took away the only thing really keeping Mycroft Holmes alive.

The finished and pulled a white sheet over Mycroft's head before leaving as soon as the door closed, Sherlock glared fiercely at the wall. He leaned up against it, anger swelling in his eyes. He took a shuddering breath and suddenly started to punch the wall as hard as he could. Between grunts of anger he somehow started to cry, before throwing one last punch and falling to the ground. An utterly heart breaking sob came from him as he went from angry, to scared, small, sad, and alone.

He looked at me, unsure of what to do. It was hard seeing him look to me for help. Especially since his first pick of help was lying motionless under a sheet. I held out my arms in an open invite for a hug, unable to do anything else. He swiftly fell into them, allowing his hidden tears to fall. I knew I couldn't compete with Mycroft, no one ever could, but I'd do my best to make sure Sherlock was okay and safe.

"I'm here Sherlock. Its alright. I've got you," I whispered into his ear.

"I want to die John. I want to die. I just want to die. Please kill me John. Kill me in the worst way you could possibly think of. Please John. I want to die. I need to die. Please kill me," he begged, silent sobs shaking his body. "I don't deserve to live. I killed my own brother. It's my fault. I need to die. Please John, please. I have to die before I kill someone else."

I had always said I would do anything for my best friend, but this is where I drew the line. I would not kill him. I could not kill him. He should've known this. And he did. But he did not care. He wanted to die. He thought he deserved to die and it was a lie. No one deserved death. Even when Moriaty had shot himself, he had not deserved death. Sherlock Holmes was no different. And I refused to even allow the thought of killing him cross my mind.

"I can't kill you Sherlock. This is not your fault and you deserve death even less than your brother did. It wasn't right for whoever did this to do it. But we'll catch them, I promise. Just don't die. We will catch who killed your brother, just stay with us. Please."

Sherlock wiped his eyes gently. "You don't understand. Mycroft is gone. I killed him. I'm the one who had the antidote instead of him. I want to die. I deserve to die. Please kill me. Please kill me however you want to."

"No Sherlock. You don't. I won't kill you. No one who is a half decent friend will kill you. I'm sorry Sherlock," I shook my head.

"Fine then," he said with slight anger in his eyes, "I'll kill myself."

He rushed out of the room and I knew where he was going. I called Lestrade and started to go after him.

"John? What's wrong?"

"Lestrade! The roof now! Sherlock is going to jump!" I shouted at him.

"I'm coming!"

"Hurry! We don't have long!"

I clicked the phone closed and continued to chase after Sherlock.

* * *

 _Sherlock's P.O.V._

I knew they were following me. I didn't care though. I asked John to kill me, and he said no. So I would have to kill myself. What better way than to jump off that rooftop for real this time?

I stood there pleased when I heard the door open and them rush out. They stopped when they saw me standing on the ledge. John start to move forwards, but I stopped him.

"One more step and I will jump," I hissed at him.

"Sherlock please. Don't do this. The world needs Sherlock Holmes."

I spun around, facing them, but not leaving the ledge. "The world needed Mycroft Holmes too! The world needed him more than they need me! I needed him! I need him still," I whispered, silent tears starting to fall.

"Please Sherlock. I didn't know your brother as well as you did, but I do know this is not what he would've wanted. Even if you don't do it for me, do it for Mycroft. Mycroft Sherlock. He's the one who came for you in Serbia. He'd do anything for you Sherlock. He loved you. Just don't jump. Please Sherlock. We'll get you help, we'll figure out a way to avenge your brother's death, but trust me when I say this. Suicide is not the way. I know. I've tried it."

He rolled up his sleeves and I gasped. There were scars all up and down his arms, and he started to carefully trace them.

"When you first jumped, I didn't know what to do. So I did what I thought was best at the time. I started to cut myself. I didn't know any better. I just knew it made my pain go away for a while. It worked, until it didn't. One day, the first entire year of you being dead, I cut to much. Mary found me lying on your fake grave, bleeding to death. They put me on suicide watch, and even then all I could think about was disappointing you by trying to take my life. You always have found suicide dull, so why attempt it now? You must listen to reason. I know what it's like to loose someone close to you. It's hard and depressing and sometimes you do just want to give up. But that isn't the way to go. Mary had told me over and over that you wouldn't want me to kill myself. Sherlock, Mycroft wouldn't want you to kill yourself. Please. Come down with us," John begged.

A sob passed my lips. "I can't. I killed my own brother. I deserve to die. Please let me die John. Please," my vision started to blur.

Down below the London streets were starting to warm up as the sun rose slowly. Traffic was getting thicker, and as much as I wanted to jump it was just to big of a risk. I slowly stepped off the ledge walking towards John. I pressed my lips together in a thin line and reached into my pocket pulling out the handgun John had on him earlier.

A confused, frightened look crossed his face. "Sherlock, don't do this. This won't solve anything. Please Sherlock."

"Goodbye John."

"No! Sherlock don't!" he yelled as I put the gun to my head. "Sherlock!"

I closed my eyes, about to pull the trigger when John shouted something stopped me in my tracks.

"Before you do this Sherlock, do remember that a great man once told me that my life wasn't mine. To keep my hands off it. I thought I could trust this man. But as it turns out, I can't."

Looking away, I let the unshed tears fall freely. "Well I'm sorry you made that mistake," my hands started to shake.

"Sherlock Holmes don't you dare pull that trigger."

* * *

 **Hello! I wasn't planning on updating for a day or two more, but then I got this thing called 52 reviews! I can't believe it! The amount of support I've received is amazing! Thank you so much! It means a ton to me! I've hoped you enjoyed and please review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	20. Chapter 19

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MENTIONS OF RAPE! PLEASE CONTINUE WITH CAUTION. THANK YOU.**

* * *

 _John's P.O.V._

"Sherlock! No! Don't do this. Please Sherlock. Just give me the gun!" I shouted.

The gun went off and everything around me turned to slow motion. I saw the bullet moving. Lestrade started to run. Sherlock's tears one by one hit the ground. But strangest of all I swore I saw Mycroft. He was waving his arms, running towards Sherlock, shouting something. I blinked three times and everything returned to normal except that it wasn't normal. Time was literally frozen.

I was standing in the middle of it all. Taking cautious steps I took the gun out of Sherlock's hand and after careful examination I decided to change fate a little. Placing the gun back in Sherlock's hand I pointing right at myself, where I would be sitting. I took the bullet and moved about two inches right of my heart.

Everything was as light a feather. I changed the direction of which Lestrade had been running which had been towards Sherlock. I turned him towards me. And then there was Mycroft. Oh yes, Mycroft. I touched him and yelped as my hand went straight through. Sherlock, Lestrade, even me who was sitting in a wheelchair, I could touch, feel, but Mycroft was like a ghost.

I shivered at the thought. First I could change the entire scene into a homicide instead of a suicide and now I could see ghosts. This was getting creepier by the minute. Now how did I change it back to real life?

As soon as I thought that I was back. I saw the bullet coming and I felt it rip through my flesh. I flew backwards and knew the bullet was still inside me. I could feel it. Blood started to flow slowly out of the wound. Even as I started to fade, I knew that it was worth it. That Sherlock was worth it.

* * *

 _Sherlock's P.O.V._

I was so confused. I hadn't pointed the gun at John. It was at me. I was the one who was suppose to die, not him. Not my best friend. I ran towards him, tears streaming down my face.

"John! No! Don't die! John please, please! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. I'll do anything. Just don't die!" I sobbed.

I held his wrist, just wanting to know he was alive. It was there, slowly, softly beating. But it was fading. Lestrade looked at me with a mixture of emotions on his face. He looked disappointed.

"I didn't point it at him. I pointed it at me. I saw the bullet come out. I swear," I said softly.

I looked up and saw Mycroft standing over us. I yelled in fright, but when I looked back he was gone. John shuddered in my arms and I turned my attention back to him. The bleeding had stopped and there was a blue scarf pressed on the wound. My blue scarf. The same blue scarf Mycroft had been wearing when he died. I touched it, expecting the underside to be sticky, and a dark red. Surprisingly, it was completely dry. In fact, there was no blood, no wound, no bullet.

I watched as John's eyes fluttered open and gulped. Would he be angry that I had just shot him? If he was, I couldn't blame him one bit. I sat the wheelchair back up, put him in it, and slowly walked away. The man I had just shot was sitting there perfectly okay. Not even a small cut. I was so confused, nothing in the scientific world could explain something like that.

I walked down the stairs and was suddenly yanked off the the side. I shouted in fear only to find my brother standing there looking like he hadn't even died. I backed away, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me back, just smiling. My eyes filled with fear as he began to talk. It was clear this wasn't Mycroft. It looked like Mycroft, but Mycroft was taller, spoke softer than this man, and would never do what this man was about to do.

"Oh Sherlock. You didn't really think I was your brother. You are aware he is lying on a bed covered with a white sheet right? Oh well," he pulled me close and whispered into my ear, "we are going to have so much fun."

"What do you mean?" I asked nervously.

He smiled and kissed me right below the left ear lobe. "You and I. We are going to make love."

I pushed away from him, but he just pulled me back, only to push me against the wall and kiss me. I felt sick and tried to shout for help, but my cries were muffled by his lips. I felt him jab something in my arm. I quickly went limp, and I found I didn't have the strength to push him off me, as he pressed kisses along my jaw line and to my ear. I whimpered, begging him not to.

"Shhhh," he put his finger to my lips, "be a good boy, and don't cry now. We'll only frame your dead brother for this. Incest, yes. This will be so much fun. I can't wait to get inside you."

A small cry escaped my throat, and I felt my trousers being yanked down to my ankles. I started to realise I was on my own. Nobody cared and who could blame them. I was the cause of my brother's death, I deserved this. I let the tears fall as I accepted my cruel fate.

* * *

 _John's P.O.V._

"Lestrade? Is Sherlock okay?" I asked, confused at the dark look I received at his name.

"Is Sherlock okay? Is Sherlock okay! He just shot you John! How could you even care about the man! We need to get you checked over, forget Sherlock," Lestrade vented angrily.

I sighed. "I'm sure it was nothing more than a mere accident. Besides, I'm completely fine. Don't know how, but look! There's not even a bullet hole! Let's just find Sherlock and get out of here."

The elevator doors opened and Anderson stepped out. "I was told you might need this. I worked on it, so the batteries should hold steady for four hours, but be careful. The circuits are still quite unstable."

"Thank you Anderson. How exactly does it work?"

"There's a thin, but tight piece of metal that sends soft electric volts through the nerves in your legs to your brain. That triggers it to tense up the muscles needed to take a step and stand. That's the main concept. I'll explain more later."

"Hmm... Intresting. This was Sherlock's idea?" I questioned. "I thought he only did chemistry."

Anderson nodded. "His idea, my work."

A muffled cry came from the stairway and I slid quickly into the suit. Sherlock had to be in trouble, and I was determined to save him. Lestrade looked at me like I was crazy, but I ignored him. Something was wrong, I could just feel it.

I ran down the stairs, searching every door, corner, and shadow. I finally came across a dimly lit room where I saw Sherlock and someone else. Sherlock was lying on his back, a completely bloody mess as the other man stood over him, kissing and groping him.

I froze for a slight second before almost demolishing the stranger in front of me. I pulled him off Sherlock, and pushed him against the wall, punching him over and over again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sherlock curl up into ball, scared and defrocked. After knocking the man unconscious, I picked up the coat lying near the wall. Draping it over the detective's shoulders, I helped him up. Supporting his to the nearest elevator entrance, I helped pull up his trousers and let him lean on me.

He was trying hard not to cry. He was trying to be strong. Wrapping my arms gently around him, I allowed him to rest his head on my shoulder.

"It's alright Sherlock. You can cry, I won't judge you. I never will," I said softly.

That was all the urging it took, and the tears started to form faster than they could fall. He was hurting. It had never been so obvious. His brother was dead, he thought he should die, and he had just been raped.

Shuddering at the thought of the last one, I swore that I would kill the people who had done this to Sherlock Holmes if it was the last thing I ever did.

* * *

 **Hello my awesome peoples! Thank you for all the support on the last chapter! I hope you enjoy this one and please review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**


	21. Chapter 20

_John's P.O.V._

I was ready to throw up. I should've expected the rape test to come back positive, but it still made me angry. How dare anyone even think of touching him like that. He had barely let me out of his sight since we found him and he hadn't uttered a single word. When he was asked questions, he just shook or nodded his head. He was terrified. The man who should've never been terrified in his life was scared out of his wits.

And then there was Mycroft. He had been moved to the morgue and Sherlock was refusing to leave his side. I had tried to leave once and the panic in his eyes was enough to make me stay. I tried to ask him why he was scared, but he refused to answer.

It was three days later before he said a single word. Mycroft's funeral was quickly organized and was quite small. The entire time Sherlock didn't leave my side. He was asked to go up and speak, but refused. He was pushed to go up and had started to panic. Anthea pulled the man, he was just a preacher, away from Sherlock and explained the situation. A look of understanding dawned in his eyes. He nodded and walked back up, quickly concluding the service. Daddy and Mummy Holmes both tried to convince Sherlock to come stay with them, but he just shook his head and walked away.

I had watched him closely. He was a rape victim, who had suicidal thoughts and just lost his brother. For him to be this quiet was little disconcerting. I knew he could go for days without uttering a single word, but this was absurd.

"Oh Mycroft," I whispered as they filled in the grave. "Why did you have to go? Sherlock needs you more now than ever."

"I know John. I wish I could've stayed, but there was nothing I could do. I tried. I'm sorry I failed."

Next to me stood Sherlock, completely silent as always. Next to him though stood Mycroft, running his fingers gently through Sherlock's curly mop. Sherlock couldn't see him, and I wasn't sure if I even saw him.

"Mycroft? Are you really there?" I asked in a lower tone.

He stopped moving his hand through Sherlock's hair for a split second. "I wish I could've only prevented this. I should've tried to stay alive longer, to not give into death. I've officially failed at being an older brother. Make sure he stays out of harms way John. I can't let anything happen to him," his voice cracked as he leaned his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

"I promise Mycroft. I will protect him," I assured him.

He looked me dead in eye. "Please John. Don't let him down."

"I won't."

Wiping a small tear from Sherlock's face, he kissed his cheek and turned to leave. "Thank you John. You are the friend my brother always needed. Do tell him I love him."

As he vanished into thin air, I averted my eyes back to younger Holmes. He stared at the ground, unsure of anything. We started to walk, when he asked a question. I'm not sure if it was the content of the question or the fact he spoke at all that surprised me.

"Was Mycroft here a moment ago?" he asked.

I looked at him shocked. "He was. How'd you know?"

"Mycroft is the only one to ever kiss me on the left cheek. It always gave a certain warming feeling when he did it. I just had that feeling. He had to be here," his reason made perfect sense.

"He was," I mumbled, "and talked to me."

The detective's eyes grew hopeful. "What did he say? Please John, I need to know."

"He mainly ran his fingers through your hair, but when he did speak he asked me to keep an eye out for you. He also said he is sorry for failing as an older brother."

I heard a sharp intake of breath along with a small sob. "Are you sure that's what he said?" he questioned.

I nodded. Sherlock turned away and bit his bottom lip. "I think I'm going to head back to my flat. Thanks for being here for me."

I stood there, confused. For the past four days he refused to leave my side and now he was just leaving? It was a little suspicious. I watched as he quickly hailed a cab and got in. It drove away and I jogged across the grounds. Catching the next cab, I ordered the driving to follow the one that just left. Seeing Sherlock's cab turn right, we followed, but the cab had seemed to disappear.

"Where to now mate?" the cabbie asked.

Looking around confused, I answered with a simple address. "221B Baker Street."

* * *

 _Sherlock's P.O.V._

Mycroft had talked to John. Mycroft had been there. He had ran his fingers through my hair. He had kissed my left cheek. He was only one to ever kiss me on the left cheek. Out of everyone who had ever kissed me, the left cheek was reserved for him alone.

I had got in the cab and had asked the cabbie to just drive in the giant circle. I told John I was going back to the flat and I knew he would try to follow me, but I had to go back to Mycroft's grave and I had to do it alone.

About five minutes afterwards, I paid the cabbie and walked back to the grave. The dirt was still fresh and soft and I slowly approached it. There were gray clouds hanging overhead and it was getting cold enough I swore it might snow.

"Umm... Mycroft... John said you were here earlier, and, well I just don't even know if that's true. We always said there was no such thing as ghosts or demons or angels. And now John claims to have seen you. Normally I'd be prone to believe him, but Mycroft..." a sob passed my lips. "Mycroft, I don't know what to think. If John saw you, if he talked to you, then why didn't you talk to me? Why! You're my brother! Why didn't you talk to me! Are you mad at me because I caused your death! Are you angry because I tried to kill myself! Hell..."

My tears hit the ground and I shivered in the cold, bitter wind. "Hell Mycroft. Did you not talk to me because I was raped? Because I shot my best friend? Because I failed at everything I've ever done? I just want to know why. I'm sorry Mycroft. I'm so so sorry. I failed you. I killed you. I can never redeem myself from that. I deserve to die, to burn in hell. I just want you to come back, but we both know the saying," I whispered softly.

The snow was starting to fall gently around me and I shivered once more at another gust of cold wind came through. Turning to leave, I said one single more sentence.

"What's dead should stay dead."

* * *

 **Hello! So after that last chapter I decided to have a more cheerful chapter... Just kidding! Cheerful is not my style. I do hope you enjoyed and please review!**

 **Best Regards,**

 **PFT221B**

 **Side note! Do you know where the last line of dialogue in this chapter came from? If so, comment and I'll make sure to give you a shout out!**


	22. Chapter 21

_(Minor edits made, nothing to worry about. New chapter coming Thursday. That I promise.)_

* * *

John's P.O.V.

When the cab pulled up to the flat, I cursed and got out. I could feel the batteries on my suit starting to give way. Climbing the stairs, hoping Lestrade and Anderson had been brilliant enough to place a charger here too, I called out for Sherlock. I opened the door and came face to face with Mrs. Hudson.

"John! Oh my! I'm sorry dear! I didn't know you were here. Is Sherlock with you?" she asked.

I furled my eyebrows together. "He's not here? But he said he was coming here. Oh crap. I'll be back later!" I shouted as I ran down the stairs.

"Where are you going? John?"

I yelled back up the stairs. "To find Sherlock!"

Hailing a taxi, I made my way back to the cemetery, hoping, praying that Sherlock hadn't done anything stupid.

* * *

Sherlock's P.O.V.

I sat down at the cybercafe and after ordering a cup of coffee- black, two sugars please- I started looking up ways to kill ghosts. I remembered once reading somewhere that salt was a way to ward them off, but I had dismissed the article because it hadn't seemed very important. Now I looked for it again.

"Here you go, sir. Can I get you anything else?" the waitress asked.

"No, thank you though. This will be all," I shook my head.

She smiled politely and walked off, and I absentmindedly reached for the coffee. Taking a sip I forced myself to swallow. I could smell and taste the mercury that spiked the drink. I knew this was another attempt on my life, but I honestly couldn't take it anymore. Let them try if they wished. Dying right now would be a blessing.

Clicking on a site that looked promising, I started to read. It looked like this had been written by two brothers from the US. With any luck, this would help some.

"Ghosts are people who refused to go with their reaper when they died. If not taken care of, they will go vengeful and they will kill people. If they were murdered, they will start with those who were responsible. Then they must be killed," I read, speaking softly under my breath. "To kill a ghost you must first find out who the ghost was."

I chuckled. Well, that was done. The ghost was Mycroft. That was one step I had already done.

"Next you need to know if the ghost's body was cremated or buried. If it was buried, then the answer may be as simple as salt and burn the bones. That should get rid of your ghost. If they were cremated you will have to look for an object that they would be attached to. In that case, you would simply salt and burn the object."

I wrote down a few notes on the piece of paper next to me. I heard the bell on the cafe door jingle. Looking up a chill went down my spine. It was the woman who had taken me from John's house. She hadn't seemed to see me, so I went back to my reading.

"While doing this you will need to protect yourself. The best two things you can use is one, salt. Iron, pure iron, also is very useful. It and salt will make your ghost disappear for some time, buying you a bit of time. Some signs that there's a ghost near is that the room or area will get extremely chilly and lights may flicker. There is one other..."

I jumped as my laptop was closed, cutting me off from my reading. The lady who had walked in earlier now sat in front of me smiling like we were on a date. She handed me a cup of tea- blackberry lemon- and leaned forward in anticipation. I sat there, unsure what to say until she let out a heavy sigh.

"My name is Amelia. Amelia Reeves. I know we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, but it wasn't my wish to do that. I was being forced," she said, her steel gray eye sparkling. "But I'm done with them. I want to help you."

"How can I trust you? I don't even know if your name really is Amelia."

She rolled her eyes, a common thing with her. "Yes, you do. Besides, I'm going to be killed for even talking to you. I might as well be helpful. I'm just going to warn you, by the way, that your coffee is spiked with mercury."

I eyed it unhappily. "Yes, I know. The taste was very distinct," I scowled.

Rapid gunfire sounded outside and both Amelia and I dove under the table. A panicked look went through her eyes and she started to speak but was drowned out as more gunfire was heard. People in the streets started to shout and we army crawled through the café. Exiting through the backdoor, we started to run towards the closest alley exit.

"That has to be them. Take this. Don't lose it. I urge you to have John Watson help you," she said as she handed me a binder. "Also, Sherlock. I am extremely sorry about your brother. None of them planned on killing him. They had expected John Watson to find you quicker than he had. I apologize on their, and mine, behalf."

"Sorry doesn't bring him back," I muttered.

She nodded. "I know. But it can help clear your mind. Now I have to be going. Good luck."

She ran off and I took off in a different direction. This wasn't going to end well, but I had no choice, but to go along with it.

I only wish I had my brother to help with it all.

* * *

Hi... Yeah. I know. I'm a horrible person for not updating sooner. To be fair I have found a show that interested me much more than Sherlock... SUPERNATURAL! Which in case you remember, I asked in the last chapter (I know, no one actually remembers that chapter) where the last line of dialogue came from. The answer was Supernatural! Dean said it in season two. So the shout-outs go to...

Bunny's Daughter

vanskikumar423

Congrats to those two, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, no this will not become a crossover and please review!

Best Regards,

SPN221B


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